


The World Is No Longer Mysterious

by Pterodactyl



Series: Supernatural!Glee [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, bbbr2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pterodactyl/pseuds/Pterodactyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural/Glee crossover. Between transferring to McKinley, joining Glee Club, and attempting (and failing, somewhat) to befriend the enigmatic, slightly abrasive, thoroughly attractive Kurt Hummel, Blaine really should have expected his life to get even more difficult than it already was. Learning exactly - and intimately - what goes bump in the night was exactly the kind of absurd thing his life would throw at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Blaine Big Bang over at beyond_dapper. Title from Dirty Valentine by Richard Siken.  
> Firstly, thank you to dinojay for the amazing art and co-operation with my general slowness. Thank you to my beta, the amazing aworldoflis for beating this fic into shape and making it something enjoyable to read while being incredibly patient with how long it took me to write this thing. Thanks to Nik for emergency beta powers and offering to be a spectacular sounding board. Thank you to Trisha, for cheering me on and making sure I kept writing even on low days. And, of course, a huge huge huge thank you to Ming, as without her this entire fic would have just been a silly idea in my mind.

**7 th June, 2008**

The fifteen year old boy reloads the sawed-off shotgun with ease and lifts it, aiming at the woman cowering against the wall. She lifts her hands, trembling, and pleads, “Don’t shoot, don’t, I’m not - please don’t hurt me, _please_ -”

He narrows his eyes, grits his teeth. “Just tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know, I don’t _know_ , I’ve never even met him -“

“Tell me an’ I won’t blow your fucking brains out.” His lips curl on the vulgarity as he presses forward, his arms still holding steady.

“Son.”

The boy turns, dark eyes flying wide, and his father reaches a hand out. Reluctantly, the boy hands over the gun, glares at the woman one last time, and leaves the barn. Outside a battered old truck is parked, and he opens the door and climbs in, curling his knees to his chest and pulling his jacket tighter around him.

From inside the ramshackle old building, the screams start.

**

The man climbs into the car beside his son and tosses the gun to the backseat. There’s blood on his jacket, his hands, and without looking up the boy hands him a towel.

“So, I was thinking,” the man says.

The boy tilts his head, sliding the oil-stained cloth over the barrel of the gun on his lap. His father clears his throat and pushes the keys into the ignition.

“Maybe we should head back to Lima,” he says, over the noise of the engine.

“Why in hell would we wanna do that?”   
   
The boy starts piecing the handgun back together, fingers working quickly over the shining metal.

“I figured we could go see your grandparents. Maybe hang around for a little while?”

“I thought we had a ghoul infestation in London to go to.”

The man shakes his head. “Someone took care of it.”

“The poltergeist in -“

“Exorcised.”

The boy scowls. “I don’t want to go back to Lima.”

“Son—“

“No, Dad. What’s the real reason? Do you want to visit Mom’s grave? Do you actually want to see Pops? Why?”  
   
His father turns around to look at him. The boy’s eyes are set a stone-cold grey and he shoves the gun back together with a loud click and throws it into the back seat before he takes the Zippo from the dash and flicks it on and off in his hand. His father reaches out and stills him, picks the lighter from his fingers and slips it into his pocket.

“I’ve been tracking, Kurt,” he says reluctantly, “And I think that the demon that killed your Mom is heading to Lima.”

The boy’s head snaps up.

“When do we leave?”

**

**5th January, 2011**

When Blaine enters the empty car park of William McKinley High School, it’s not in the dapper, dignified state he had planned to be in. Instead, he’s out of breath, pink-faced and his coat is soaked in snow. There’s a hole in his jeans at the knee where he’d fallen on ice and tore them open on gravel and his hair is damp and ungelled under his hat, and all that because his phone had died sometime during the night and his alarm hadn’t gone off, leaving him with fifteen minutes to get ready rather than fifty. His hand is cramping painfully where he’s clutching his textbooks to his chest, having been too disorganised to be able to fit half of them into his bag that morning.

He half jogs, half limps up the steps and realises with a sinking feeling that he is horribly late, despite the fact that he’d sprinted most of the way there. Sighing, he shoves open the doors and starts down the hallway, following the signs towards the receptionist’s office.

“Hello?” he pokes his head in, wiping his hand on his jeans nervously “Um, I’m Blaine Anderson, I’m new. I was told to come in here yesterday.”

The receptionist barely glances at him, typing out a short blast on her keyboard and then shoving a small pile of papers across the desk. “That’s your timetable, locker number, school map, and a list of extracurriculars. If you have any trouble, feel free to contact any of the teachers and we’ll make sure to follow it up. I hope you have a nice day.” The speech sounds like it’s been said a million different times to a million different students and Blaine gathers up the paperwork, bobbing his head in thanks as she flashes him a tight smile and repeats “Have a nice day!”

Blaine backs out of the office just as the bell for first lesson rings, shuffling frantically through his papers one-handedly to find the map and his locker number. He pulls them out, peering at them hopelessly in an attempt to identify where he’s standing, and he has just pinpointed where his locker would be when a hand comes slamming down on the precarious pile of paperwork and textbooks and sends it all spilling to the ground.

Blaine’s head snaps up and he glares at the two jocks who continue past, smirking at each other and high-fiving. Blaine drops to his knees and starts picking up his belongings, shaking his head. _So far from Dalton_ , he thinks mournfully.

“Hey, man, you all right?”

Blaine cranes his head up to see a tall, Asian boy towering over him. He ducks his head again, sighing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” His voice turns sarcastic at the end and he stops, pulling off his hat to run a hand through his hair and then jamming it back onto his head hastily.

The boy kneels down opposite him and piles his science textbooks neatly on top of each other. He slides them across the floor to Blaine who has just snatched his locker number out from under the shoe of a passing cheerleader.

“I’m Mike,” The boy sticks out his hand and smiles broadly, “What’s your name?”

“Blaine,” Blaine shakes his hand firmly, collects his textbooks up from their pile and clutches them to his chest as he stands.

“Nice to meet you, Blaine,” Mike smiles again, “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yeah,” Blaine shrugs, “I transferred in today, from Dalton Academy in Westerville?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike nods, resting his hand on Blaine’s shoulder to direct him to the side of the hall, “We went up against their Glee club at sectionals. The Warblers, right?”

A real smile comes to Blaine’s face for the first time that day. “I was in the Warblers! You guys must have been the New Directions, you were _awesome_. We were lucky to tie with you.”

Mike’s face splits into a wide grin. “Hey, thanks man. I’m glad you thought so.”

Blaine clears his throat, starts to ask if he could join but then thinks better of it. In the Warblers, you were invited to join if it wasn’t the two weeks given for sign ups. Best he waited for an invitation.

“Um, do you know where locker 223 would be?” he asks instead, and Mike nods.   
   
“It’ll be just down the hall from here. You turn left, then right, and it’s on the right-hand side.”

“Thanks,” Blaine hefts his textbooks and smiles tightly, “Uh, yeah, so...”

“See you around, Blaine,” Mike claps him on the shoulder and merges seamlessly into the flow of students down the hallways.

For Blaine, it’s not as easy. He has to shoulder his way past most of them and is tripped at least once before he makes it to his locker, slumping heavily against it and extracting his code from the pile of papers. He fiddles with the lock clumsily, his fingerless gloves having done nothing to protect him from the bitter wind.

There’s a loud clang as the locker on his left is slammed shut and Blaine jumps sideways, groaning under his breath as his books spill to the floor for the second time in five minutes.

He kneels, flinching as a bag brushes past his face, and shoves his glasses up his nose as he starts collecting his textbooks again. As he reaches for his Biology book a pair of scuffed Doc Martens come to a halt in front of him and the owner of the shoes kicks his foot sideways a little, knocking his book closer. Blaine picks it up quickly, climbs to his feet and spills them all unceremoniously into his locker. Then he risks a glance sideways at Doc Martens boy.

_He’s stunning_ Blaine thinks, _god, he’s **stunning**._ He’s pressing his lips into a slight pout as he examines his schedule, brows drawn down into a frown and Blaine risks turning his head a little more to stare openly.

Doc Martens boy stiffens and then turns, arching an eyebrow and folding his arms as Blaine’s face flames red and he turns back to his locker, staring at the dented grey metal like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“Something to say?”

Blaine swallows hard, turns with a straight back and a lifted chin. “I’m Blaine Anderson,” he says, smiling.

The boy grins wickedly and grabs Blaine’s hand in a firm shake. His hand is calloused, warm around Blaine’s, and his eyes search Blaine’s face like they’re trying to learn everything about him without saying a word. He’s got strangely coloured eyes, seeming to start off blue and then becoming a stormy grey.

“Gonna let go of my hand any time soon, Anderson?”

Blaine snatches his hand away, bringing it up to scratch his hairline nervously. Doc Martens smirks and turns back to his locker, licking his lips. Blaine catches a glimpse of silver before he turns back to look into his own locker as well, studying his schedule and wondering whether it’s worth risking another look at him.

_I should probably get his name. I can’t keep calling him -_

Doc Martens’ locker slams shut and Blaine turns to see him grin, eyes flashing, and whisper “See you around, Anderson.”

But as he walks away Blaine frowns: the boy is walking with a limp, dragging his left leg like it’s stiff.  
   
Shaking his head, Blaine opens his bag to store his textbooks away. The late bell rings.

**

He doesn’t see Doc Martens again until lunch. He’s holding his tray, standing nervous in the middle of the cafeteria when he spots him, sliding onto a bench occupied by only a few other people. Hesitantly, Blaine starts towards him, hoping to catch his eye, when a familiar voice calls his name. He pivots on his heel and smiles in relief when he sees Mike waving from a nearby table, hurrying towards them and doing his best not to spill the food in his bowl.

“It’s okay if I sit here?” he checks, and Mike pats the bench beside him. “Sure, man, come on. Guys! This is Blaine. He’s a transfer student from Dalton Academy, up in Westerville.”

Blaine looks up from the unidentifiable brownish mass that is his lunch, “Um, hi. Nice to meet you all.”  
   
“I saw you looking at the no-go area?”

“No-go area?”  
   
“Yeah,” Mike gestures to Doc Martens’ table, “Kurt Hummel and that lot. You don’t really want to go and talk to them.”

“Hey, Mike,” the boy sitting opposite Mike frowns, “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, Finn,” a boy with a mohawk snorts, “You told me you give as many fucks about Kurt as I give about who I sleep with.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” a girl drawls from somewhere down the table and Blaine leans towards Mike, speaking in an undertone. “Uh, which one’s Kurt?”

Mike cranes his neck for a moment. “Oh, uh, he’s the one with all the piercings, I don’t know if you can see them from here. Brown hair? He’s the one wearing the leather jacket.”

Blaine nods slowly. _So Doc Martens’ name is Kurt. It sort of suits him._

“He’s got a tattoo, I think,” the girl sitting next to Mike says, and the girl from down the table snorts. “Yeah, on his ass.”  
   
“No, he doesn’t,” Finn-who-is-apparently-Kurt’s-brother states, and Mohawk boy turns to look at him.  
   
“And _how_ do you know that, Finn?”

“Oh my god, Puck, not like that,” Finn groans, “Like, I saw him shirtless _once_ when I was coming out of the bathroom, and I saw that he didn’t have any tattoos. That’s it.”

“Was he ripped? I bet he isn’t.”

“I didn’t look!”

Mike nudges Blaine and says loudly “You can sing, right Blaine? Maybe you could join Glee Club?”

“Oh, whoa,” the girl from down the table slides into the seat beside Blaine, “If we let this guy into Glee, he’s gonna bring us down even more. Look at him, he looks like he spent the night in a dumpster.”

Blaine plucks self-consciously at his sweatshirt. “I - um, what?”

“You look like a hobo,” she says curtly, “A hobbit hobo. You may have a kink for that, Chang, but I’m not risking being seen with someone who looks even worse than Finn on his best days.”

Blaine glances at Mike. “I’m... sorry?”

“Santana, quit it,” Finn rolls his eyes, and Santana smirks at him. “Oh I’m sorry, Puffy McPuff-Nipples, I thought you _liked_ the dirty-talk. Maybe you and Hobbit Hobo here could get it on. We all know how much you like people who are below average size.”

Blaine feels his cheeks flush red as Finn squawks indignantly, and a dark-skinned girl groans. “Santana, stop. We’ve heard enough about you and Finn.”

“I could stand to hear a little more,” Puck mutters, and Blaine focuses very, _very_ intently on his food.

“We could do with another person in Glee,” Finn says, pointedly ignoring Puck, before he turns to Blaine. “Have you been in show choir before?”

“I was in the Warblers for a year and a half,” Blaine shrugs, “I think I’m decent.”

“Okay, cool,” Finn grins, “Why don’t you come over to the choir room after school today and audition? It’s not, like, a massive thing, we just have to check that you can, you know, sing.”

Blaine glances across the room and locks eyes with Kurt. He holds his gaze for a split second, before Kurt looks back down at  the table.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, “I’ll see you then.”

**

Blaine spends the entirety of English Lit brainstorming audition songs between taking notes. He rules out Sara Bareilles (he would need to transpose all of her stuff, anyway) and anything Broadway ( _too gay_ is scribbled beside it) and settles eventually on I Can Go The Distance, because as far as he knows you can’t go wrong with Disney. He auditioned for the Warblers with the same song, and sure, maybe that’s a little boring, but he knows this song back to front, he’s been singing it with Cooper since he was three.

(Cooper always jokes that Blaine will probably audition for his first role with I Can Go The Distance. Blaine thinks he’s probably right.)

He doesn’t screw up, thankfully. When he’d auditioned at Dalton it had taken three tries - he forgot the piano part once and then his voice cracked embarrassingly. When the last note echoes around the room, he lets his hands fall onto his lap and then jumps as the people sitting on the risers begin to applaud.

“Thank you,” he grins, bobbing into a short bow as he picks up his sheet music. The short brunette from the front row dashes forwards and grabs his arm before the teacher (Mr Worcester or something?) can get there.

“Well, that was wonderful!” she beams at him, “It’s great to know that there’s someone here who can keep up with me vocally, since we unfortunately lost the last person due to untold situations,” She then shoots a killer glare at _Finn_ , for some reason, “However, if you’re going to be a part of this club I really think we need to do something about your outfit. We have standards, and -”

“Berry, if we even had standards, they’d all have been brought crashing down by those tights,” Santana points her toe at the rainbow-patterned tights the girl - Berry? - is wearing.

“Um, I don’t actually always dress like this,” Blaine says quickly, “I just - I woke up late today. But thanks for the advice, um...?”

“Rachel Berry,” she smiles and steers him to the seat next to him before he can make his own choice, “Now, I’m the leader of this club, so if you have any problems or suggestions please run them past me -”

“Okay, Rachel!” Mr Worcester or whatever claps his hands, “Welcome to the club, Blaine. I’m Will Schuester, the teacher in charge of the club. Feel free to come to _me_ if you have any problems and we’ll try to get them sorted.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says, smiling.

**

Blaine is juggling the sheet music for Glee, his Bio notes and History textbook as he walks through the car park, trying to tuck most of them back into his bag. He vaguely registers the laughter of a couple of jocks walking past (and one of them has the most _horrendous_ mullet and Blaine has to force down a smile) and nods a greeting to them as he finally manages to fold his notes in half and stick them in his planner.

“Hey, new kid!”

Blaine blinks up at the jock now standing in his way, shoving his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand and cradling his textbooks to his chest.  
   
“Can I help you?” he says politely, which Cooper taught him to mean _I really don’t want to talk to you, but I’m an Anderson so I’m polite_.

“Sure,” the guy with the bad mullet says, “You can go on and climb right into that dumpster there.”

Blaine looks at the dumpster, and then looks back at him. “Um, what?”  
“You know what, man, I think he might be a little small to get in,” one of the other guys says, and Blaine frowns.  
   
“I don’t understand -”

But before he can finish his sentence they’re closing in around him, and he yelps as one of the jocks grabs him by the arms and another one hooks his legs off the ground, his history textbook spilling to the floor and his sheet music fluttering across the asphalt. Blaine opens his mouth to yell for help, but before he can he’s being swung up and sideways and crashing down into the dumpster.

Stunned, Blaine lies on his back with something sharp and painful jabbing into his ribs and snow soaking into his coat, trying to catch his breath. Groaning, he rolls over and promptly smacks his head against the edge of an old filing cabinet half covered by a bag of old food crusted over with greyish snow.

“Whoa, dude, you okay?”

Blaine blinks up at the top of the dumpster, realising after a moment that it’s Finn leaning over the edge. He coughs, wheezes in a breath and sits up shakily, nodding, and grips Finn’s outstretched hand.

“Sorry you had to deal with that,” Finn pulls and Blaine gets his foot on top of the filing cabinet and tumbles out in the most ungainly fashion he can muster, slipping on the icy ground and falling again.  
   
“Thanks,” he mumbles, brushing the dirt off his coat, and Finn claps him on the back.  
   
“No problem, man. It’s pretty empty today, bad luck.”

“Is this a normal occurrence?” Blaine kneels to pick up his sheet music, grimacing as his skinned knee complains. His elbow feels sore and he touches it lightly, scowling when his fingers come away red.

“Yeah, it happens to nearly everyone,” Finn picks up a few errant pieces of paper and shrugs. “Well, not to me, but you know, I wouldn’t fit, so,” he laughs.

Blaine opens his bag and then groans as whatever was smeared across it transfers itself onto his fingers, a sort of brownish-green slimy substance that could possibly be the leftovers of what had been lunch. He wipes his hand on his jeans, grimaces as the skin over his elbow pulls painfully.

“Oh crap, man, you’re bleeding pretty bad,” Finn nods at his elbow and Blaine shrugs, taking his sheet music back with a smile.  
   
“It’s fine, I’ll get my brother to put a bandage on it when I get home.”

“Are you sure?” Finn puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him as Blaine slips again, “Because Jacob Ben Israel told everyone he got tetanus from a dumpster fall, once. My mom’s a nurse, I’m pretty sure she could take a look at that.”

Blaine doesn’t know who Jacob Ben Israel is, but he sounds respectable and Blaine really doesn’t want tetanus. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” Finn goes to continue but then a car horn blares and a voice shouts “Jesus, Finn, leave the hobbit and hurry the fuck up! I actually want to leave this school before eight.”

Blaine looks up to see a truck drawing to a halt and he nearly drops everything when Kurt of all people pokes his head out of the window. Finn rolls his eyes, mutters “Brothers, you know?” and grabs Blaine’s arm to keep him steady as they cross the tarmac and Blaine struggles painfully into the backseat. It’s cramped and his sore knee presses against the driver’s seat, but that means he has a very clear view of the back of Kurt’s neck and the light pink scar on the side of his throat.

“Dude, you should probably do something about that leg, it’s got worse,” Finn says, “Burt’s not gonna buy you fell down the stairs.”

“Well, he’s not going to know the truth either, so you better sell it,” Kurt says briskly, pulling out of the parking lot and meeting Blaine’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you want to quit staring at my neck?”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, but Kurt just rolls his eyes in reply.  
   
“Why do you always pick up the creepy ones, Finn?”

“Blaine’s cool, man,” Finn grumbles, “He’s way better company than you, anyway.”

“That’s because he’s scared of being crushed by your monster feet.” Kurt shakes his head and then brakes abruptly, jogging Blaine forwards so his knees crash painfully against Kurt’s seat. He yelps and Finn apologises, shooting a glare at Kurt. “Dude, quit driving like a crazy person.”

“My car,” Kurt steps on the gas sharply, and smirks at Finn, “My driving.”

Blaine crosses his legs and links his fingers in front of his skinned knee.

They make it to what appears to be Kurt and Finn’s house mostly in one piece. Blaine has to grab the handle to keep himself upright as he steps out of the car and Kurt grabs his arm, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Are you unable to keep yourself upright for more than two minutes?”

“I have no grip on my shoes,” Blaine mumbles and Kurt laughs, knocking lightly against his shoulder and saying “Get some new ones, genius.”

Finn has to bend his knees and tilt sideways to whisper in Blaine’s ear but he manages to catch Blaine’s attention without getting Kurt’s too. “Sorry about him,” he says again, “He’s always like this. It’s like he’s on constant PMS.”

“Don’t talk about me behind my back, Finn,” Kurt says coldly as he unlocks the door and Finn jumps, looking sheepish. Blaine ducks his head as he steps into the house, toeing off his shoes and glancing up at the pictures on the wall. He spots a couple of pictures of Finn, with a kind-looking woman with auburn hair.

“That’s my mom,” Finn says, nudging him along, “She married Kurt’s dad, so we’re sorta brothers now.”

“No, we aren’t,” Kurt snaps, “We’re step-brothers. Not blood relatives.”

“Um, okay, man,” Finn holds up his hands, “Just explaining the whole family situation to Blaine. No need to freak.”

Kurt toes his boots off into the shoe rack and disappears into the house, still frowning. His limp has miraculously disappeared, but his fists are curled tight as if he’s in pain. Blaine places his bag by the wall and hangs up his coat and follows Finn into the kitchen as he yells “ _Mom!_ I’m home, and I brought a guest!”

The auburn haired woman from the photographs appears around the corner. “Hey, honey. Who’s this?”

Finn claps Blaine on the shoulder. “This is Blaine. He’s new, he joined Glee today.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Hudson,” Blaine extends his hand and the woman smiles and draws him into a quick hug. “Call me Carole,” she says, smiling.

Finn opens a cupboard door and takes out a bag of chips. “Mom, Blaine hurt his elbow and crap when he fell, and it’s pretty bad. Can you, like, fix it?”

“As long as it isn’t any trouble,” Blaine says hastily, “If you’re busy, Mrs - Carole, I don’t mind.”

“No trouble at all,” Carole swats her son on the arm as she walks past. “Finn, where are your manners?”

“Oh, crap, sorry Blaine,” Finn withdraws his hand from the packet of Doritos, “Are you hungry or something? Thirsty?”  
   
“Um, some water would be great, thank you,” Blaine draws out one of the chairs at the table and sits down gingerly, peeling off his sweatshirt. Finn nods at his shirt. “Aerosmith, huh?”  
   
“Oh, yeah, I guess,” Blaine looks down at the faded band shirt, “It’s my brother’s, really.”

“He’s got a good taste in music, then,” Finn puts a glass of water in front of him and sits down opposite him, pouring the rest of the Doritos into a bowl.

“Jesus, Finn, we’re eating dinner in an hour,” Kurt appears out of nowhere and snatches the bowl out from under Finn’s nose, “You can wait.”

“But Kurt, I’m hungry,” Finn whines as Carole re-enters, holding a first aid box. She shakes her head fondly as Kurt empties the bowl back into the packet and puts it away.

“Can you show me your arm, please?” she asks, and Blaine twists to face her and lifts his elbow to eye level.

“That’s nasty,” she twists her lips and stands, “Okay, can you come over to the sink?”

“Mom works up at Lima General,” Finn says helpfully, hovering behind Kurt who’s chopping carrots and scowling at the knife. Blaine shoves his sleeve up higher and sticks his elbow under the stream of water, shuddering at the cold.

“What’s for supper, bro?” Finn hangs over Kurt’s shoulder and steals a carrot stick, resulting in Kurt’s knife slamming down close to his fingers. “Couscous, lamb chops and carrots.”

“No fries?” Finn pouts.

“No, Finn,” Kurt says tightly, “As fries would be entirely counterproductive to my aim of reducing my father’s cholesterol levels.”

“Well, yeah, but he could -”

“ _Finn_ ,” Kurt’s voice could freeze someone solid, “We are _not_ having fries.”

“Sorry,” Finn withdraws and sits back at the table.

“Okay, we can sit back down now,” Carole shuts off the tap and steers Blaine back to his seat, picking up a pair of tweezers. Finn plants his elbows on the table. “So you went to Dalton?”

“Yeah, I did,” Blaine flinches a little as Carole picks gravel out from his elbow, “It’s a good school.”

“I thought it was just, like, filled with prep school kids,” he shrugs, “You were good at sectionals though. You’re a pretty outstanding singer.”

“Wow, thanks,” Blaine feels his cheeks redden, “I, um, I had a lot of practice.”

“I bet the Warblers were sad to see you go,” Finn smiles, “But hey, having another strong male lead will be good for us.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kurt mutters, “A strong male lead to sway in the background while you and Berry wail about everlasting love.”

“Um, dude, what? Last time we competed Santana got the group number.”

“How generous,” Kurt slams the pack of lamb chops down on the sideboard. Blaine glances between the two of them, and then yelps as something stings against his elbow.

“Sorry,” Carole grimaces in sympathy. Blaine bites his lip again, and digs his nails into his thigh. “Nearly done.”

“Thank you,” he grits his teeth into a smile as she smoothes a large band-aid over the graze.  
   
“No problem,” she says.

“Hey, dude, you wanna stay for supper?” Finn offers, and Blaine opens his mouth to decline politely when Kurt says loudly “He can’t.”

“Sorry?” Blaine says, and Carole clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “ _Kurt_.”

“He can’t!” Kurt says defensively, “We don’t have enough food.”

“I should probably get home anyway,” Blaine says as he stands up, “Thank you so much for having me.”

“But your knee -” Carole starts, but Blaine shakes his head, smiling. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Thank you, though.”

“Finn, why don’t you drive Anderson home?” Kurt says in a sickly-sweet voice.

“ _Kurt!_ ” Finn and Carole say loudly, and Blaine shakes his head. “No, don’t worry. I’ll get out of your way. I really should be getting home, as well.”

“Blaine, you really don’t have to -”

“Thank you so much for your help, Mrs Hudson,” Blaine bows a little as he stands, backing into the hallway to retrieve his stuff, “I really appreciate it.”

“Dude, ignore Kurt, everyone hates his food anyway.”

“Fuck you, Finn.”

Blaine tugs his shoes on and zips up his jacket. “Thank you so much for having me. I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn. Bye!”

He waves as he shuts the door and allows his smile to drop, frowning at his shoes as he picks his way down the driveway. “ _Wow_ ,” he says finally, “What a day.”  
   
Tramping down the road, he fumbles with the zip of his bag and pulls out his phone to call Cooper.

“ _Hey, little bro! How was your first day?_ ”

“Long,” Blaine sighs, “Can you come get me, please? I’m stuck on a street corner.”

“ _What? Can’t you walk?”_

“Cooper, it’s dark and I’m cold and my feet are soaked. I’ll call a taxi, but you have to pay.”

“ _Fuck you, Blaine. I’m on my way._ ”

“Love you too!” Blaine trills, and Cooper hangs up. A couple of seconds later he receives a text.

**_From: Coop_ **   
**_Dude, you didn’t tell me the address. Failure._ **

**_To: Coop_ **   
**_You didn’t ask for the address. Disappointment. I’ve turned location on, you lazy dick._ **

**_From: Coop_ **   
**_What’s that sound? Oh yeah. It’s the sound of me going back to bed and leaving you to freeze. You’re lucky I love you, little bro._ **

**_To: Coop_ **   
**_You don’t love me. You only tolerate me because I can cook._ **

**_From: Coop_ **   
**_Truer words have never been spoken. On my way._ **

Blaine smiles, slips his phone back into his pocket and perches on the road sign, wedging his hands deep in his jacket. It’s cloudy, the sky looks heavy with more snow and he kicks at the drifts by his feet. His socks are soaked, anyway.

Cooper takes nearly ten minutes to get there, and he nearly drives past before Blaine leaps to his feet and waves, causing him to screech to a halt.

“I didn’t see you this morning,” Cooper says as he opens the passenger side door, “You look like a hobo.”

“That does seem to be the general consensus,” Blaine grumbles, holding his numb fingers in front of the heater.  
“Bad day?”

“Yep,” Blaine leans over to turn up the fan, “Hey, did you know they throw people in dumpsters at McKinley?”

“What’s McKinley?” Cooper asks as he pulls out of the road, “Your new school?”

“Yeah, duh,” Blaine pulls off his hat and scrubs his hands through his curls, immediately regretting it when the scabs on his palms pull painfully, “Which is why I smell vaguely like dumpster right now.”

“And why you have gunk smeared all over your jeans.”

“Yeah,” Blaine flops back against the seat.

“Make any new friends? Any _guy_ friends?”  
   
“Oh my god, Coop,” Blaine groans, “I’m not - no. Well, yeah, but he’s... pretty straight.”

“Okay, lemme rephrase that. Spot any hot guys?”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “Nope.”  
   
“C’mon, you totally did. You’re lying. You even did the whole folding your arms and shrugging thing.”

“Coop,” Blaine says lamely, “Can we just...not?”

“What?” Cooper turns in his seat, “Did someone - did someone do something to you? Do I gotta knock some heeeeads?”  
   
That makes Blaine smile.  
“Cooper, oh my god, no. No, I just... made some not-friends?”

“Well that’s shit,” they turn into the driveway and Cooper cuts the engine, “What’s this not-friends’ name?”

Blaine eyes him. “Why?”

Cooper shrugs. “So that if they come looking for a job at the paper I can interview them and then tell them they’ll always be a failure at life, why else?”

“You’re horrible,” Blaine shuts the car door behind him and shoulders his bag, “Did you cook?”

“Uh, no, obviously not,” Cooper unlocks the door, “But I can order pizza.”

“Awesome,” Blaine drops his bag, “I’m gonna go shower.”

_Hopefully_ , he thinks as he throws his clothes into the laundry hamper, _tomorrow will be better._

**

“Did you let the dog out?” Blaine asks, scratching his mutt behind the ears. Cooper groans.  
   
“Nope. You do it.”

“Lazy ass,” Blaine grabs the last slice of pizza and pats his thigh. “C’mon, Mouse. Let’s go.”

Mouse heaves himself up from the floor and yawns, stretching, andBlaine rolls his eyes. “Don’t act so old. You’re only one. Man up.”

“Blaine, bro, you’re talking to the dog.”

Blaine sticks his tongue out and flicks on the lights as he goes. Mouse pads beside him, nudging his head insistently against Blaine’s thigh and staring up at the pizza and Blaine squints at him. “’S mine. ‘S not yours.”

Mouse rumbles low in his chest and pauses at the back door when Blaine opens it, sniffing curiously. Blaine rolls his eyes. “It’s a garden, Mouse. Not a... look, just go outside.”

Mouse bolts out into the darkness and Blaine shuts the door behind him. Cooper shuffles into the kitchen and dumps the pizza boxes in the box that’s serving for the bin.

“We should go shopping soon,” he stretches, “Do you think Mom and Dad would mind if I got one of those awesome incinerating bins?”

“Probably, yes.”  
   
Something starts scratching at the door and Blaine leans over to open it. Mouse scrambles through the tiny gap and skitters across the tiles, disappearing into the den. Something rustles loudly in the garden.

Blaine steps outside. “Hello?”

More rustling. Something snaps.

“Who’s out there? Hello?”

“Blaine, jesus, shut the door. You’re letting the cold in.”

“I think there’s something out there?” Blaine goes to turn on the porch light.

“It’s a _garden_. It’s probably a squirrel or something. Shut the door.”

“Okay, okay,” Blaine locks the door behind him and puts the key on top of the cupboard, “But if we’re murdered in our beds, it is completely your fault.”

**

**_20 th January, 2011_**  
Blaine doesn’t get a chance to talk to Kurt for weeks. The most he sees of him is when they’re at their lockers, and Kurt ignores him every time he tries to start a conversation. The furthest he gets is acquiring Kurt’s number, texting him, and getting no reply, which he takes to mean that Kurt has little to no interest in being friends. Which is a shame, because he’s really cute and Blaine is definitely not developing more-than-platonic feelings towards him.

Three weeks after his first day at McKinley, he trudges through the front door and drops his boot bag on the floor, exhausted. He’d been neglecting his poor horse since he moved in, so getting back to the stables had been hectic as hell: just trying to muck out his stall had resulted in spilling his wheelbarrow twice and dropping an entire bale of straw in the middle of the courtyard, drawing the wrath of the people trying to shift a trailer that had broken down. Yawning, he runs a hand through his curls and toes off his shoes, making his way into the kitchen.

“Hey Coop,” he calls, but Cooper shoos him out of the way.  
   
“Guess who got a hot date tonight?”

“Not me,” Blaine drops onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Nice girl?”

“I don’t know, it’s blind,” Cooper shrugs, “Neil set me up.”

“Be nice.”

“I always am. I’ll be back late, don’t wait up!”

“Do I ever wait up?” Blaine mutters as Cooper whirls out of the kitchen. The front door slams a few seconds later.

Blaine sighs, stares at the empty kitchen for a moment and then gets up. “Shower,” he says out loud. “Shower, then takeout, then bed. Don’t text Kurt again. Don’t be pathetic. Don’t talk to yourself.”

Mouse watches him solemnly from his basket. Blaine sticks his tongue out and takes the stairs two at a time.

He spends half an hour in the bathroom, changes into a pair of jeans and spends a moment looking at himself in the mirror.

“Blaine,” he says sadly, “The only thing you have going for you is your face. Your face below... below... below nothing. _God_.”

He sighs and puts on a shirt.

**

The scratch of claws on wood takes Blaine’s attention away from the spread of takeout menus on the coffee table and towards the sorry mess that is his dog. Flour is spread across Mouse’s back and there’s an egg smeared into his ear. Blaine picks what looks like a chunk of banana out of his fur and wipes his hand on his pants.

“Jesus, Mouse,” he stands and grabs Mouse’s collar, pulling him along towards the kitchen, “What happened to you? Did you put your head in the garbage agai - oh my god.”

The kitchen looks like it’s been hit by a bomb: the fridge is open, and two of the shelves have been pulled out onto the floor. What looks like a ton of flour has exploded across every surface, tastefully dotted with the pack of eggs Blaine had bought earlier that week. Two cartons of passata are broken open on the kitchen table and the contents of the fruit bowl have been splattered on the wall.

“Oh my god,” Blaine repeats, and Mouse lowers his head. “Mouse, you - you - oh my god. Okay. Go outside.”

Mouse’s ears go back and he whines.

“No, outside,” Blaine picks his way across the floor and opens the door, shooing him out. “Don’t come back in. _Ever._ ”

He slams the door and sighs, opening the door to the utility room only to find the box of washing power has been emptied onto the floor and the washing machine is whirring its way painfully towards the end of a spin cycle. The bottle of fabric softener is lying on its side on the floor. The broom that he wanted is snapped in half.

Blaine pushes his glasses up onto his head and rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. _I really don’t have the energy to deal with this._

The washing machine grinds to a halt and Blaine rolls his shoulders, picks up the linen basket and scuffs through the thin layer of washing powder to pull open the door.

A cloud of white flour explodes in his face and he yelps, doubling over into a coughing fit and covering his mouth with his hand. Something slams into his chest, knocking him onto his back and sending him skidding back into the kitchen. His head glances off the leg of the table and he takes a few seconds to get his bearings back before he sits back up, a little dazed.

Suddenly something grabs hold of his hair – he yells, reaching up to shove whatever it is away and loses his balance, flailing helplessly at whatever is wrenching handfuls of his hair out. He screams, some formless word, manages to get out “ _HELP ME!_ ” before something presses over his mouth and nose, cutting off his breathing.

He can heargarbled muttering in a language he doesn’t know, and then _teeth_ seal down on his forearm. Blaine shrieks, watches as red intents appear and deepen until blood wells up through them. He shakes his arm desperately, kicks out at thin air as his head slams into the ground, stars bursting in front of his eyes.

He can hear barking, can hear scratching at the door and thumping and someone is yelling his name but Blaine still can’t breathe, clawing at the invisible, untouchable thing over his face.

There’s a crash, and then a pipe swings into his vision, barely skimming his nose and the pressure is gone, he gulps in a breath and blinks when a head comes into vision. His glasses are crooked and he lifts a shaky hand to right them.

“Anderson? Can you hear me?”

Blaine groans, nods his head. Kurt’s face swims into vision, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Jesus, you frightened me. I thought it’d knocked you unconscious.”

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, “Hey, hey, how’d you get into my house? Did you walk through the walls? Like the men who stared at goats?”

“What? Are you high?”

Blaine reaches up, meaning to cup Kurt’s jaw but it ends up as a sort of slap to the temple. “You are _so_ cute. Did you cute through the walls?”

“Yep, you’re high. Okay, come on, get up. It’ll be back.”

“What?” Blaine clings to Kurt as he pulls him upright, “Why are you frowning? You’re so pretty when you smile.”

“Okay, shut up, you’re scaring me. Put this on.” Kurt pulls off his battered leather jacket and drapes it around Blaine’s shoulders. Mouse makes himself known quietly, butting his head against Blaine’s thigh and whining softly. Blaine puts the heel of his hand against his forehead. “My head hurts.”

“You’re fine,” Kurt says, guiding Blaine’s arms through the sleeves and then hefting his pipe. “Okay, let’s move.”

“No, Mouse,” Blaine reaches out for the dog’s collar, pulling him along as well. Mouse follows with his tail tucked between his legs, a growl rumbling softly in his chest.

“Sit,” Kurt says, shoving him onto the couch, “Hold this.”

He dumps the iron pipe and the duffle bag on Blaine’s lap and pulls out a huge bag of salt. He tears the top off with his teeth, and starts pouring it on the floor.

“Don’t scuff this,” he says, backing around the couch, “Don’t leave the ring. Keep your dog by your side. Keep your hand on the pipe.”

“What are you doing? Why are you wasting all that salt?”

“You won’t be calling it a waste when I stop this crazy spirit from tearing your throat out with its bare hands. Your arm’s bleeding, there’s something in the inside pocket of my bag for that.”

Blaine pushes back a shirt on the top layer of the bag and nearly drops it. “There’s a gun in here. Do you shoot people?”

“Not people,” Kurt pulls another gun from the back of his jeans, and Blaine blinks.  
   
“You know, it would be really unfortunate if that went off.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, “I know.”

“Like, you could get bullets in your ass.”

“Yeah. I. Know.”  
   
Then Kurt does something Blaine has only ever seen in cop shows, and he squints. “What did you just do?”

“I reloaded the gun. Okay, stay there. Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

Kurt shuts the kitchen door behind him and Blaine shivers, rubbing his eyes. Mouse whines, jumping up onto the sofa next to Blaine and curling up on one of the cushions.  
   
A chill wind whistles through the room, and Blaine rubs his palms over his eyes. “Kurt...”  
   
“I’ll be through in a second!”  
   
The wind gets stronger, whistling through the room hard enough to knock the pictures on the walls awry, and Blaine frowns. “Kurt, I think –“  
   
“Not right now!”  
   
A low humming starts, making the glass in the coffee table vibrate, and Blaine looks up. “Kurt, it’s in here.”  
   
There’s a low murmuring coming through the door, melodic and foreboding, and Blaine glances at the ring of salt, finds it intact if a little scuffed. The humming gets louder, making his teeth rattle, and he stands up, uneasy. “Kurt, I think you should come back in, there’s something –“  
   
Suddenly the humming escalates in an unearthly scream, the wind increases enough to start shifting things across the tables and Mouse bolts up from the couch, claws scratching against the floor as he darts up the stairs. Blaine looks down at the salt circle.  
   
It’s broken.  
   
He looks up just in time to see a picture frame flying towards his head.  
   
**  
   
“Hey.”  
   
Blaine groans, covers his face with one hand. Fingers curl around his wrist and prise it away gently.   
   
“Anderson. Anderson, look at me.”  
   
“No,” Blaine says petulantly, “My head hurts.”  
   
“Blaine. Look at me. _Please_.”  
   
Reluctantly, Blaine opens his eyes and then yelps as a bright light shines in them. “What are you –“  
   
“You’re not concussed? _Jesus_ , your skull must be made of iron. That’s crazy.”  
   
Blaine sits up slowly, rubs his head. “What happened? What hit me?”  
   
Kurt picks up a picture frame. “This hit you. Lucky it’s thick cardboard, if it were metal or something – well, you’d probably be dead.”  
   
Blaine gulps.  
   
“You’re okay, though. I swear it.”  
   
“Thanks,” Blaine says slowly, “But...what, I...”  
   
“Do you want a hand clearing up? It looks like a bomb went off in there.”  
   
“No,” Blaine hauls himself upright, “No, you need to explain what happened.”  
   
Kurt looks a little taken aback and Blaine pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I just...”  
   
“Yeah, no, I’d be confused too. Look, you’re obviously tired. Maybe you should –  
   
“No! This _thing_ comes into my house, attacks me twice, throws stuff all over the kitchen and you want me to go to _sleep?_ What if it attacks me again?”  
   
“It won’t.”  
   
“How do you _know?_ ”  
   
“I...” Kurt sighs, “I exorcised it.”  
   
“You –“ Blaine laughs, “You _exorcised_ it.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“I’m sorry, was there a _demon_ in my house? Is that what’s going on?  
   
“No, it was –“   
   
“Because if there’s a demon in here I’m going to live with Mike. _Jesus_ , there is, isn’t there, oh my god it’s going to kill me.”  
   
“It’s not a demon, goddammit! It’s a poltergeist. Okay? There is a difference!”  
   
“It’s a what?” Blaine says, “A pelting-meist?”  
   
“ _Poltergeist._ Noisy ghost, in German. You know, throws books around, knocks over chairs, plays the piano while you’re sleeping...”  
   
“And it’s in my house.”  
   
“It was in your house. It’s not anymore.”  
   
“Because you...exorcised it?”  
   
Kurt nods. Blaine puts a hand on the couch to steady himself. “I think I need to sit down.”  
   
“That’s probably for the best,” Kurt says.  
   
“How’d you even know it was here, for one?”  
   
“That’s my secret,” Kurt taps his nose, “I can, however, tell you it involved an electro-magnetic frequency meter and a good sense of intuition.”  
   
“I have _no_ idea what you just said.”  
   
“Okay, it’s time for bed, then,” Kurt pats him on the shoulder, “Let’s go.”  
   
Blaine lets himself be manhandled up the stairs and into his room, turning to face Kurt as he pulls off his sweatshirt. “I...thanks. Kurt.”  
   
“No problem, Anderson,” Kurt nods at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun with that kitchen.”  
   
Blaine smiles wanly. “Thanks.”  
   
**  
   
Blaine spends the weekend alternating between sleeping in bed with a headache and helping Cooper clean up the house. His brother’s in a foul mood – his date had gone horribly, he hadn’t got laid at all and he’d come home to a kitchen covered in food and a demolished living room, and to top it all of they find the corpse of a small bat in Mouse’s bed.   
   
By the time Sunday comes around Blaine’s pretty determined to get in contact with Kurt.  
   
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _Hey, how are you?_**  
   
He’s not really expecting a reply, so it makes him jump when his phone vibrates on the kitchen table a few minutes later.  
   
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _I’m fine. How’s the head?_**  
   
Blaine grins, texts back **_it’s fine, a little sore. Whatcha up to?_**  
   
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _On break at work. You?_**  
   
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _Admiring my clean kitchen and listening to Cooper swear as he puts pictures back up. Did you put the bat in Mouse’s bed?_**  
  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _Cooper? And yes, I did. It was dead on the road so I figured it was a nice accessory._**  
  
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _We had to put the dog’s bedding through three wash cycles to get the smell out, but thanks. (Coop’s my older brother.)_**  
  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _My bad. Okay, have to go, someone’s brought in a new car._**  
  
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _Talk tomorrow?_**  
  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _Sure, whatever. Bye._**  
  
Blaine smirks at the phone screen. He’s pretty sure he and Kurt are now friends. Or, at least, not enemies.  
   
“ _Blaine!_ Come hold the toolbox, I need a screwdriver.”  
 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural/Glee crossover. Between transferring to McKinley, joining Glee Club, and attempting (and failing, somewhat) to befriend the enigmatic, slightly abrasive, thoroughly attractive Kurt Hummel, Blaine really should have expected his life to get even more difficult than it already was. Learning exactly - and intimately - what goes bump in the night was exactly the kind of absurd thing his life would throw at him.

**_January 1999_**  
  
Kurt throws himself onto his Mama’s bed, clutching his book to his chest. She smiles at him, strokes back his hair. “Peter Pan again, Kurt?”  
   
“Mm,” Kurt curls into her side and slips his thumb into his mouth, “It’s my favourite,” he explains, slightly muffled.  
   
“Okay, sweetie,” she says, pinching his cheek, “Got a little crush on Wendy?”  
   
Kurt wrinkles his nose and pulls his thumb away, wiping it on his pajama shirt. “ _No_. I like Peter much more.”  
   
Her hands falter. “Really?”  
   
“Of course. Mama, do you think he’d take me away to Neverland if I asked nicely?”  
   
“I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’d have to leave me and Daddy behind, and that wouldn’t be fun.”  
   
Kurt just shrugs and pokes the book cover once, jiggling his legs under the covers. “Read it, read it from the start.”  
   
“Okay, Kurt. From the very beginning. Peter Pan, by James M. Barrie. Chapter one, Peter breaks through...”  
   
Kurt leans his head on Mama’s chest, slips his thumb back into his mouth as she reads. He lifts his hand to play with the charm on her wrist, turns it in his fingers. It’s a star, a star in a circle with what looks like a sun around it, made of cold metal. He folds it into his fingers.  
   
The window rattles softly and the room seems to grow colder. Kurt huddles closer, tugs the covers up a little and fiddles with the knot of the charm, tugging it until it unravels. He wraps it around his fingers, smiling as the charm falls neatly into the palm of his hand. He yawns, the warm tone of his Mama’s voice making him sleepy. The window rattles, louder.  
   
Mama’s voice stops and he sits up a little, blinking. “Mama?”  
   
“Shh, sweetie,” she says softly, “You hold onto that, okay?”  
   
“Mmkay,” he rolls over to watch her open the window, glancing outside carefully.  
   
And then she goes flying back across the room with a scream.  
   
Immediately Kurt scrambles out of his bed and runs towards her, the charm still clutched in his hand. She pushes him away, shaking her head. “Hide in the cupboard, sweetheart,” she whispers, “Go, go hide, _go_.”  
   
He dashes across the floor, opens the door to the wardrobe and slips inside, shutting it behind him. He peers through the slats, gripping them tight, and waits.  
   
A hand grips the windowsill, and then another, and a man hauls himself up into the room. When he lifts his head, his eyes are black. Kurt puts a hand over his mouth and tells himself he won’t scream.  
   
“I would like my payment,” it says.  
   
Mama shakes her head. “You have it.”  
   
“I would like. My. Payment.”  
   
“You _have_ it. I told you –“  
   
The paintings on the walls come crashing to the floor, and broken glass sprays everywhere. Kurt flinches.  
   
“Give it to me. Give me my _payment_.”  
   
“I don’t have him! He’s with his father, he’s not here.”  
   
“Give me your firstborn or I will burn this house to the ground.”  
   
“He’s not _here_.”  
   
“Then explain to me why there is a _children’s_ book on the bed, _children’s_ slippers on the floor and – _hm_ , yes, the distinct smell of a little girl.”  
   
“Boy.”  
   
“I don’t _care_. Give it to me.”  
   
Mama shakes her head. “He’s not here, he went out.”  
   
Kurt nearly screams when fire erupts in the man’s hand, billowing red and angry, almost snapping at the air. Mama’s eyes flash towards the cupboard and the man laughs.  
   
“So predictable, you little humans. So...boring, even.” He turns, and starts to walk towards Kurt’s hiding place, smiling. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”  
   
The doors go flying off the hinges and Kurt can’t help it, he screams, pushing himself further away from the man until what feels like a hand closes around his wrist and pulls him out.  
   
“Leave him alone!” Mama cries, but she doesn’t try to get up and help him. Terrified, Kurt tries to pull his hand away, his shoulder aching as his toes barely brush the ground.  
   
“Mama,” he cries, “Mama, make him stop, I don’t –“  
   
“Shut up,” the man says dismissively, and Kurt’s mouth snaps shut. He whimpers as the man cups his chin and looks deep in his eyes.  
   
“I do hate the ones who snivel,” he says dismissively, and with a snap of his wrist Kurt is being thrown across the room, hitting the wall next to the bed with a smack. He crumples to the floor and his left wrist takes all of his weight. He nearly screams but his throat _jams_ , and the man is in front of him again.  
   
“Didn’t I _say_ ,” he hisses, “ _That I hate the ones who snivel_?”  
   
Kurt blinks hard, feels tears slip down his face all the same. The man smiles, catching a tear on his finger. “Look at this, he’s crying. They all do, I suppose, after all. See, you stupid bitch? This could all have been avoided if you’d just let me _take him_. His neck would be broken and we’d all be on our merry little way!”  
   
“No,” Mama is still sitting against the wall, and Kurt doesn’t understand. Why isn’t she coming to help him? Why isn’t she _saving_ him?  
   
“No? For _fucks_ sake, I am quickly losing my patience with you, woman. I was thinking about playing with you, making you _watch_ , but I’m done with your pathetic attempts to persuade me and your _snivelling_ son.”  
   
“Please, just leave him, just take me, _take me_ –“  
   
But the man doesn’t listen, instead opens his mouth and a thick black smoke streams out. Kurt screams, turning his face away and then the man drops him and stumbles back.  
   
“You fucking _cunt_ ,” he snarls, “What have you done to him? What the fuck have you done? Give me my _fucking payment!_ ”  
   
He lifts his arm and Mama’s arm twists and she screams and Kurt hides his face with his right arm, the jam in his throat finally unsticking. He sobs into his arm as Mama screams and screams, begging softly for Daddy to come back and save them.  
   
“Wake up, sweetheart,” the man says, and then he picks Kurt up by the back of his pajama shirt and turning him in midair and at the sight of his Mama Kurt starts screaming and won’t stop.  
   
Mama’s lying in the middle of the floor with her arms outstretched, and there’s blood _everywhere_ , all over her chest and her face and then Kurt realises it’s not blood, it’s her insides. Mama’s _insides_ are _everywhere_.  
   
“This is what happens,” the man snarls, “When you cross me. This is what happens. You see now, don’t you? You caused this. I wanted you, and I got her, so now we’re equal. But you made this happen.”  
   
Kurt drops the charm and lifts his hands to cover his face, terrified of the inhuman expression on the man’s face.  
   
The man watches it as it falls and he smiles suddenly. “Oh, of course. Of _course_.”  
   
And then the blackness is rushing out of his mouth and into Kurt’s once more, and Kurt starts screaming again as it forces itself down his throat, lashing out wildly and trying to push the man away, and the door bursts open.  
   
“Kurt –“  
   
Kurt falls to the floor and his fingers close around the charm again and the blackness stops, curling into nothingness in the air. His dad yells “What the hell are you doing to my son?”  
   
“Daddy –“ Kurt chokes, his throat feels like it’s full of syrup. The man disappears so suddenly, it’s like he was never even there.  
   
“Oh, jesus,” Daddy says, and he stumbles back, “Lizzie. Oh god, Lizzie, no, _no_ , _fuck_.”  
   
“Daddy,” Kurt says, and reaches out for him, “Daddy, he hurt me –“  
   
“Oh god, buddy, okay. I’m here, Kurt, I gotcha. I gotcha,” he lifts Kurt off the floor, jogs his sore arm and strokes his hair back when he wails. “Okay, Kurt, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”  
   
“Mama, we have to –“  
   
“We can’t do any more for Mama now, Kurt,” Daddy says roughly, “C’mon, kiddo, it’s okay. It’s okay.”  
   
Kurt hides his face in Daddy’s shirt as he carries him away, but he can’t stop seeing Mama sprawled out on the floor.  
   
**  
   
 ** _9 th February, 2011_**  
   
Blaine is pretty sure his life has taken a turn for the better. He’s finally settling in at McKinley, his place in the Glee club finalised by joining them for their big performance during the half-time of the football game. Mike, Sam and he have bonded over a deep love for Mario Kart, Marvel and bad comedy movies. He’s one of the few juniors in the club, so he’s developed a friendship with Artie mostly based on an intense hate for Trig and Spanish. Tina occasionally strikes up a conversation with him during English, and he’s joined Finn, Puck and the rest of the guys for videogame marathons at least four or five times.  
   
After a long conversation with Trent over pizza, his acquaintanceship with Kurt had been cultivated into a tentative friendship sustained by snarky late-night text messages from Kurt and the cutest, fluffiest animal pictures available from Blaine. Sometimes Kurt will start a conversation at their lockers, sometimes he won’t.  
   
They don’t bring up the poltergeist incident.  
   
Despite all of this, Blaine is having a particularly bad day. He’d spent most of the night before rehearsing his part in the orchestra for their assembly that day, and even had left his Spanish homework for it – Mr. Schuester never collected their worksheets anyway (from what Blaine could see, he spent most of his time pining over Miss Pillsbury).  
   
But now he’d got to school to find that the assembly had been cancelled because Figgins had come down with something. Thoroughly frustrated, he’d gone to Spanish where, for once, Mr. Schuester had decided to be _competent_ and collect the homework. He’d given Blaine a pitying sort of look and told him he was lucky he didn’t give detentions on Fridays, and had then looked at him like he was supposed to be _thankful_ or something.  
   
So now Blaine glares at the floor and reshuffles his papers in his arms, thankful that the corridors are empty. If he had to deal with bumping into insensitive teenagers right now on top of everything else he might punch something.  
   
Finally reaching Glee, he shoulders through the door with a muttered apology, ducking his head to avoid eye contact only to find someone sitting in his usual seat at the back.  
   
“Hi,” Kurt says, smirking around his busted lip.  
   
“Wha –“ Blaine glances at Finn, who’s smiling smugly in the front row.  
   
“Believe me, I don’t know what I’m doing here, either,” Kurt shifts seats and catches Blaine’s pile of papers as they start to fall.  
   
“What happened?” Blaine whispers, nodding at his lip, and Kurt shakes his head. “I got into a disagreement with this meathead. He took three weeks of detention, I took Glee Club.”  
   
“Good choice.”  
   
Kurt gives him a crooked smile. “I’d like to think so too.”  
   
“Blaine, Kurt,” Mr Schue says loudly, “I appreciate your enthusiasm to make friends but we need to focus on the theme for this week, _love_. Now, I want you guys to pick your partners and sing to them what you think is the world’s best love song!”  
   
Blaine shifts uncomfortably, casts a hopeful look at Tina even though she and Mike are sharing the heartiest of heart eyes. He turns back to the front and pouts.  
   
“Oh, Jesus,” Kurt mumbles, “Is he serious?”  
   
Blaine grins at him. “Oh yes. He is.”  
   
Rachel hops to her feet eagerly. “In light of recent events –“ and she looks at Finn, but now Blaine knows the story behind that so it makes sense, “I feel like I have the _ultimate_ song for this assignment prepared. Mr Schue, if I may –?”  
   
He nods, and Rachel smoothes out her skirt and trots up to the front, talking quickly to the band. “This song really embodies the depth my love can reach, and I feel like the movie from which it comes – starring my idol, Barbra Streisand – also reflects the start of my climb towards being a Broadway star.”  
   
“Oh dear,” Kurt says, “Is she going to sing?”  
   
The harp starts up and Blaine sits up. “Oh, I love this song. Shhh, listen.”  
   
“I’m going to throw up,” Kurt sits up quickly, “I wonder if I can switch to detention?”  
   
Blaine shushes him hastily, his eyes fixed on Rachel as she sings. Kurt eyes him. “I figured you’d be pretty good, you know, since you did that thing for the football match? But I was obviously wrong. You’re run by her, and she’s run by an idiotic infatuation with my stupid step-brother.”  
   
He slumps back in his chair, pouting. Blaine is hit with the overwhelming urge to kiss him.  
   
Rachel belts out the second verse, screwing her face up, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “She has missed the entire point of the movie. Jeez, if this is supposed to reflect her relationship with Finn, I pity him.”  
   
Mercedes twists in her seat and glares at him, and Blaine helpfully puts a hand over his mouth.  
   
The song draws towards its end and Kurt starts jogging his foot against Blaine’s chair. Without thinking, Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s thigh, stopping him.  
   
As the last note fills the room Kurt sits pulls his leg away, still grumbling to himself. Rachel gives a little bow and the club claps, Blaine calling out a little “Bravo!” as she takes a seat.  
“That was really great, Rachel,” Finn says, and Rachel visibly preens, folding her skirt underneath her as she sits down, “Could I make an announcement, Mr. Schue?”  
   
Mr Schue looks a little confused. “Uh, sure. Go ahead.”  
   
“Thanks,” Finn bobs his head in a thank-you and walks up to the front of the room.  
   
“Here we go,” Kurt mutters, folding his arms.  
   
“So,” Finn starts, “As you know, this is the first week we’ve had with no slushies.”  
   
Mercedes arches an eyebrow. “Finn, it’s only Wednesday.”  
   
Finn ignores her, “And I’d like to take credit for that. You know, for leading the football team to a conference championship victory.”  
   
“Wasn’t it Puck...?” Tina mumbles, and Mercedes nods beside her.  
   
“The fact is, I’m the closest thing this Glee club has to a celebrity, and just like a famous athlete, I want to give to a charity,” he pauses for effect and Blaine’s mind whizzes. _The homeless centre? The orphanage? The animal rescue centre?_ ”  
   
“You guys.”  
   
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Kurt mutters, running a hand through his hair and looking for his bag. Blaine frowns as the club makes varied disappointed noises.  
   
“So, I’m setting up a kissing booth. It’s a dollar a smooch, and –“  
   
“I’m outta here,” Kurt says, shouldering his bag and stepping down the risers. Mr Schue stops him. “Whoa, Kurt, you’re part of the group, now. You have to hear him out.”  
   
“I agree with Kurt, Mr Schue,” Mercedes says, “Finn doesn’t want to help us, he just wants an excuse to kiss a bunch of girls.”  
   
Blaine glances between Mercedes and Finn as Santana says something about man boobs and Finn snaps back, and Kurt uses the distraction to shrug his arm out of Mr Schue’s grip although he pauses in the doorway, seeming to revel in the brewing argument.  
   
Blaine tears his attention away from him just long enough to hear Mr Schue be told he has an addiction to vests (which seems pretty true, Blaine can’t remember seeing him without one) and wincing when Rachel finishes her admittedly rather long rant and Santana storms out, knocking Kurt aside with her shoulder. From the corner of his eye he can see Mike glance at him and pull a face, and when Blaine catches his eye, he shrugs and smiles.  
   
**  
   
Kurt comes back to Glee on Thursday, climbs the risers and flops into the seat next to Blaine.  
   
“Couldn’t stay away?” Blaine grins, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “Something about your specific brand of crazy is very appealing to me. Plus, it’s fun to watch Berry humiliate herself constantly in her futile pursuit of Finn.”  
   
Blaine shakes his head. “Maybe we’ll even get you to sing a song some day, huh?”  
   
“I doubt it, Anderson,” Kurt says, spinning a pen between his fingers, “I really doubt it.”  
   
**  
   
"Hey, dude," Finn tells Blaine as he opens the door, "Come on in. Mom's making popcorn, could you bring it down? The others will be here in a second and then we can get started on our songs for this week."  
   
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Blaine calls as he toes off his shoes and Finn disappears up into his room, "How are you?"  
   
"Hello, Blaine," Carole appears with a book in her hands, smiling, "I'm fine, thank you very much. How are you?"  
   
"I'm great, thanks," Blaine follows her into the kitchen and leans against the counter, "Finn sent me to get popcorn?"  
   
"Oh, yes, it's just in the microwave. How's Glee Club? Finn never wants to talk when he gets home."  
   
"Well, um –" _your other son has joined and he spends all his time just watching me and god it sends shivers down my spine, my hands shake and I blush and can't concentrate he's so hot_ "– it's okay. Rachel's kind of bitter at the moment. She sings a lot."  
   
"I heard Kurt called her out."  
   
"Oh, yeah. He got tired of listening to her sing Is It Over Yet."  
   
"I love that kid," she laughs, "He takes bullshit from nobody."  
   
She opens the microwave door, opens the pack of popcorn and pour it into a bowl. "Here you go. Tell Finn supper's at six – are you staying?"  
   
"I'd love to, if that's okay."  
   
"I'll lay a place for you."  
   
"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson." Blaine picks up the bowl and tucks the pack of pita chips against his hip and makes his way down the stairs.   
   
Kurt and Finn are arguing when he gets in, and he keeps his head down and places his armful of food on the table opposite the TV. Kurt is standing, shoulders high and defensive as Finn sits on his bed and rolls his eyes, and Blaine finds himself staring at the tense line of those shoulders, how broad they are, and his knees go weak as he remembers how it felt to grab onto them to support himself.  
   
"–don't see why it's such a big deal, anyway."  
   
"Because," Kurt snarls, body wound tight like a cat about to spring, "Because, you imbecile, I have grades to worry about and papers to write and a GPA to keep, unlike you!"   
   
He paces, runs a hand through his hair, pausing in front of Blaine. "I need this room to study, genius, have your stupid video game marathon upstairs, _Jesus!_ "  
   
"Dude, why do you even bother? Everyone knows you're just going to stay here anyway," Finn snaps, and Kurt's knuckles go white with how tight they're curled.  
   
"Fuck you, Finn. You don't know anything."  
   
"I know you're just as much of a Lima Loser as Puck, and that you're not going to get any further than your dad's shop –"  
   
"Says the guy who's failing seven classes! Oh yeah, you're definitely going to get somewhere, you're a regular fucking _Einstein!_ " Kurt near screams, and Blaine shifts a little, wondering if it'll come to blows. He hopes not, he's not strong enough to restrain either of them.   
   
"Yeah, well at least my parents care about what I do!" Finn stands, leaning into Kurt's face.  
   
"Finn," Blaine says, moving closer, "Finn, don't."  
   
Kurt's face is tight with fury, eyes blazing, he looks like he wouldn't even think about killing someone.   
   
"Yeah, that's right," Finn sneers, ignoring Blaine "Your dad's given up on you. He knows you're a dead end. At least I know my dad would be proud of me. Not like –"  
   
"Finn –"  
   
"Not like your mom, bet she had such high hopes for you too –"  
   
Kurt lets out a wordless scream of rage, pulling back his fist, and Finn flinches, but before Kurt can lash out Blaine grabs his arm and tugs it down. Kurt breathes sharp and furious through his nose, wrenching his wrist out of Blaine's grip and then storms out, grabbing his jacket from the chair by the stairwell as he passes.  
   
Blaine stands there for a moment, looks between Finn – still shocked statue-still – and the stairs, and then runs after Kurt.   
   
The front door slams halfway up the stairs and Blaine slips on the floor, snagging his shoes with his fingertips and shutting the door behind him, and runs up the street after Kurt, calling his name.   
   
"Kurt! Kurt!"  
   
He's further than Blaine had thought he would be, and Blaine's getting breathless when he catches up, and skitters in front of him.   
   
"Move," Kurt snaps, shoving past, and Blaine follows him, "Fuck off, don't follow me. I don't need Finn's leavings."  
   
"I'm your friend," Blaine says, shrugging helplessly, "I – Finn was wrong, okay, are you okay?"  
   
Kurt chokes out "Didn't even hear the argument and you're taking my side –" and turns left towards the park.   
   
"I –" Blaine slumps his shoulders and knocks his shoes together, which draws Kurt's attention. "Not even wearing shoes. Jesus, Anderson."  
   
Blaine opens the gate for him and Kurt breezes past, walks for the swings and sits down, kicking his boots out in front of him. Blaine hops barefoot over the wood chips and sits next to him. "You're crying."  
   
"Congrats, your contacts are working today," Kurt says bitterly, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. Blaine fumbles in his pocket, pulling out his neatly-folded handkerchief, and when Kurt unfolds it he sees the embroidered B.W.A in the corner.   
   
"William," Blaine supplies, "My second name."  
   
"Like the prince?"  
   
"Like the prince," Blaine says.   
   
Kurt laughs. "You're going to make a girl very happy one day, Mr Anderson."   
   
Blaine's heart lodges in his throat, but he has to say it. "A boy."  
   
"Pardon?"  
   
"A boy. I'll make. A boy. Happy. Some day."  
   
 Kurt smiles knowingly. "I know."  
   
Blaine blinks. "You – you do?"  
   
"Yep. Saw you checking out that guy's ass. What's his name. Sam?"  
   
Blaine blushes. "Oh, uh. Yeah."  
   
Kurt dabs at his eyes. "I don't blame you. That's one fine piece of ass."  
   
Blaine laughs, then. "Yes. Yes, it is."  
   
His moment of elation only lasts a second until he realises what Kurt has said. Is he really that obvious? Have other people noticed? Will Kurt _tell_ other people? He wouldn’t, Blaine trusts him not to, Kurt would know that Blaine’s not ready for that.He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that, and he knows what the people at school are like. If they find out, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t know what they’ll do to _him_.  
   
What if _Kurt_ is gay? Blaine chances a glance at him and follows his line of vision across the park to – oh. To a girl wearing a large pair of sunglasses and holding a clutch, mincing along the sidewalk in a ludicrously large pair of heels and an incredibly short skirt, paired with an shirt that dips incredibly low. Kurt’s eyebrows are raised in an expression that’s either incredulity or lust.  
   
Maybe not, then.  
   
Kurt drags his eyes away from the girl and sighs heavily. “I should probably head back, or Finn will have to come looking and then he’ll _apologise_ and it’ll be incredibly awkward.”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine offers his hand and Kurt eyes it for a moment and then takes it, hauling himself upright.  
   
**  
   
Around five minutes later, Blaine meets Burt Hummel for the very first time.  
   
He’s an intimidating man, well built and glowering as Blaine wipes his feet at the door and toes off his shoes.  
   
“Blaine Anderson,” Blaine says, “Nice to meet you, sir.”  
   
“So,” Burt says, “You’re the guy my son’s been spending all his evenings with, then?”  
   
Blaine nearly asks him what on earth he’s talking about, because he’s pretty sure he’d remember if he’d been spending an extended amount of time with Kurt in the evenings, and then he gets it. Kurt’s been using him as cover. And yeah, maybe Blaine’s heart swells a little bit at that, because that means – that means Kurt _trusts_ him, or at least likes him a tiny bit.  
   
He switches his gaze to Kurt, standing behind his father. Kurt shrugs and mouths _sorry_ , wincing theatrically.  
   
“Yes!” Blaine says brightly, “I’m teaching him violin, actually.”  
   
Burt’s eyebrows rise up his forehead. “Teaching Kurt violin?”  
   
“Yep,” he smiles, “We’ve just finished Twinkle Twinkle.”  
   
Behind Burt, Kurt drops his face into his hand.  
   
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hummel, but I’ve got to talk to Finn,” Blaine shuffles away, bobbing his head, and then makes a beeline for the stairs.  
   
“What was that?” he laughs, turning to Kurt who’s following right behind him, “Completely out of the blue, I mean, _whoa_.”  
   
“Sorry,” Kurt mumbles, “You weren’t supposed to know.”  
   
“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Blaine grins, “And now I’ll actually have to teach you Twinkle Twinkle.”  
   
“Wonderful,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “I can’t wait.”  
   
**  
   
 ** _24 th February 2011_**  
   
“Hey, Blaine! Wait up a second.”  
   
Blaine pauses, turning to see Puck jogging after him, waving. “Bro, I heard you talking to Mike after Glee. Your house is empty this weekend?”  
   
“Well, yeah. Just me and my brother.”  
   
Puck grins. “So what do you say, I’ll bring the chicks and you bring the alcohol?”  
   
Blaine blinks. “I’m not having a party. I have a show-jumping thing in a few weeks that I have to practice for, plus Sam, Mike and I are having a movie night on Saturday.”  
   
“Got that right, brother,” Sam says, slinging his arm around Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine grins up at him, hoping Sam will defend his decisions.  
   
Puck shakes his head. “Dude, everyone’s hosted a party for me. You gotta do it.”  
   
Blaine shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably. “I... I don’t know. I don’t know if my brother...”  
   
“Hey, your brother’s totally cool, Blaine. If you just tell him I’m sure he’ll be fine with it,” Sam pats Blaine on the arm.  
   
“Just tell him you’re having a party, and you need him out of the house for the night. That’s what I say to my mom,” Puck shrugs, “Easy as pie, man.”  
   
Sam nods. “Yeah, it’ll be awesome! I know this guy who can get me those cool coloured drinks on discount.” He and Puck fist-bump.  
   
Blaine wrinkles his nose. “Puck, I really don’t think –“  
   
“C’mon, Anderson, you gotta let me. You gotta.”  
   
Sam nods hopefully, grinning.  
   
Blaine groans. “Okay, fine. I’ll ask him.”  
   
**  
   
“Hey, Coop,” Blaine calls as he slides his shoes into the shoe rack, “I’m back.”  
   
“Hey, squirt,” Cooper yells, and Mouse comes skittering out into the hallway and noses his way between Blaine’s knees, tail wagging excitedly. Blaine ruffles his fur and pads through into the den, leaning against the doorway. “How was your day?”  
   
“Fine,” Cooper waves a hand, “Got an email from Dad. He says he and Mom are fine, the new job is fine, everything is fine, and he hates his boss. Business as usual. Also, Chelsea called, she said that she’s changing Archie’s food again and not to give him oats next time you’re at the stables because he’s getting fat again.”  
   
Blaine laughs. “As usual. Uh, Coop, could I ask you something?”  
   
“Sure, bro, you know there are condoms in my closet, you don’t have to –“  
   
“ _It’s not about sex!_ ”  
   
“Okay, okay,” Cooper lifts his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Sorry. What is it?”  
   
Blaine takes a deep breath, bounces on his toes a little. “Uh, would it be okay if...this weekend, if...”  
   
“Yeah? Spit it out, Blaine, I’ve got an article to write here.”  
   
“If you could buy some more instant noodles?” Blaine blurts, “Um, I ate all of them for lunch this past week.”  
   
Cooper blinks. “Er. Okay?”  
   
“Yes. So. I’m going to go and change,” Blaine nods, smiles his best _this-is-awkward-so-I’ll-leave_ smile and dashes up the stairs.  
   
He throws his bag onto the armchair and strips off his sweater vest, dumping it in the laundry basket and swapping out his polo for a soft old t-shirt. Turning to face the mirror, he takes a deep breath and rehearses under his breath.  
   
“Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night.”  
   
Blaine swallows hard, closes his eyes and repeats it. “Cooper, I’m having a party and I need you to go out of the house for the night. No, I need you to spend some time away? To...to...”  
   
“You need alcohol, or...?”  
   
Blaine spins, stumbling back against the mirror, and Cooper waves casually. “Who’s the party for? Can I stay?”  
   
Blaine puts his hand over his heart. “You scared me.”  
   
“Is it for your Glee Club? I can get you alcohol, and stuff. If you want it.”  
   
“Cooper, I swear, I don’t –“  
   
“Like, tequila, or what? Rum? Vodka? I have a friend, you know, who can get that shit for you.”  
   
“Coop! I –“  
   
Cooper pulls out his phone. “I’ll make a list. Tequila, rum, vodka, beer. That’s the basics. What else d’you want?”  
   
Blaine shrugs. “I don’t...I don’t know?”  
   
“I’ll handle it,” Coop waves a hand, “Tell whoever it is to go ahead, it’s a-okay.”  
   
“I –“  
   
“No problem, squirt,” Cooper grins and salutes, twirling off the door and down the hallway. Distantly, Blaine hears him mutter “Not a cool brother. Eat your words, Neil.”  
   
**  
   
 ** _25 th February, 2011_**  
   
As a middle-schooler ‘Truth or Dare’ was the bane of Blaine’s life. Someone would ask him, ‘ _Truth or Dare?’_ and truth would always be his answer. The dares back then were far too scary for him, and without fail he’d get _‘Who do you like?’, ‘Do you like Maisy?’, ‘Do you like Anna?’, ‘Do you like me?’_ and he’d have to stutter and blush his way through an answer.  
   
‘Truth or Dare’ as a sophomore is much easier. Especially when you’re drunk.  
   
Blaine leans into Tina, giggling helplessly as Sam “break dances” across the floor, writhing and squirming with his arms flapping. He’s pleasantly buzzed, warm and happy with his drink dangling from his fingertips. The bottle spins.  
   
“Hey, Blaine!”  
   
“Blaine, Blaine, truth or dare?”  
   
Blaine almost automatically says truth and then he stops, smiles. “You know what, I’ll take a dare.”

Santana cheers, _finally_ , and Rachel claps her hands. “Okay, Blaine, I dare you to...”  
   
“Kiss Rachel!” someone yells, and Blaine frowns. “No, no, no.”  
   
“No?” Rachel says, eyes suddenly sharp and angry, and Blaine backtracks. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, like, you’re not unattractive, I guess, but, like, I don’t? Because...” he waves his hands, trying to articulate, “Like, I want to kiss Kurt? More than you?”  
   
Kurt startles upright from where he’d been slouching against the couch, eyes wide. “Huh?”  
   
“What?” Puck says, “Dude, are you gay?”  
   
Blaine snaps his fingers. “ _Exactly_. I am...flamingly homosexual.”  
   
There’s a moment of shocked silence and Blaine can vaguely see over the top of his drink that everyone’s sort of staring at him.  
   
“I did not see that coming,” Mercedes says. Rachel pouts. “Fine, then. Make out with Kurt, then.”  
   
“But isn’t the point of ‘Truth or Dare’ to do something you wouldn’t usually do?” Quinn points out. She folds her arms and frowns when nobody listens to her.  
   
“Don’t I get a choice in this?” Kurt asks, but Rachel presses a finger to his lips.  
   
“Sure, okay,” Blaine shrugs, tries to get up and falls back on his ass. Stunned, he laughs. “I’m _drunk_.”  
   
“You’re a lightweight, that’s what you are,” Santana bangs her glass down, “Do it. Make out. Gay action is better than normal action.”  
   
Kurt sighs. “Get over here, Anderson.”  
   
Blaine gets onto his hands and knees, knocks the bottle aside with his knee as he crawls over to Kurt, who’s looking slightly world-weary and folding his legs underneath him. “Let’s get this over and done with.”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine says, eyes fixed on Kurt’s lips, “Yes, let’s _do this_ –“ and then Kurt’s palm cups his jaw and pulls him in.  
   
Kurt’s lips are dry, a little chapped, and Blaine grabs his biceps with both hands, gasping slightly. Blaine presses in a bit closer, drops his mouth open and grazes his tongue over Kurt’s lower lip. He tastes like – like the coke he’d been drinking earlier and something else, something lighter, and then Kurt’s mouth opens for him and oh _god_. Blaine lifts his hands, curls his fingers into Kurt’s hair, moans in the back of his throat and leans in, tilting his head so he can kiss Kurt deeper, tongues sliding together with Kurt’s hands tightening over his hips, and he tries to shuffle forwards over Kurt’s lap, rising up onto his knees when there’s a hand on his shoulder.  
   
“Okay, time’s up!” Rachel shouts, sounding a little wounded, and their lips part with a wet _smooch_ that Blaine immediately wants to hear again.  
   
“Hey, no, Berry, that was _hot_ ,” Santana hooks her fingers into Blaine’s collar, “You just keep on going.”  
   
But Kurt shoves back, runs a hand through his (already messy, _Blaine_ did that _, Blaine messed up his hair like that_ ) hair and stands. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for this,” he mutters, and walks away.  
   
“That,” Blaine says, “was an _awesome_ kiss.”  
   
“I second that!” Tina cackles, and Blaine winks at her and tilts his head back to look for Kurt.  
   
“There should be more of that,” Brittany says, nodding, “That was good.”  
   
“Hey, we should play spin the bottle!” Mike calls, and the cheer goes up around the room. “Spin the bottle!”  
   
Blaine doesn’t really pay attention, trying to work out where Kurt has got to. When he realises it’s been ten minutes since Kurt went to get his drink, he climbs unsteadily to his feet and stumbles into the hallway.  
   
“Hey,” he slurs, “Hey, Kurt, hey, you didn’t come back?”  
   
“Nope,” Kurt picks up his bag, “I’m heading home, actually.”  
   
“But,” Blaine has to swap hands to clutch the doorframe, “But the party isn’t over, yet? Why – why are you going?”  
   
“I feel like going home. Do I need to have a reason?”  
   
“Did I do something? Was it the house – was – did I do anything?”  
   
“I’m just,” Kurt shrugs, “I’m tired?”  
   
Blaine swallows hard. “It was me, wasn’t it? Because I kissed you? It was my fault, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have kissed you, I’m sorry, _please_ don’t go.”  
   
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.”  
   
“No, Kurt, _please_ ,” Blaine has to pause to collect himself, then stumbles after Kurt. The door slams on his foot and he yelps, hopping forwards to sit on the step. “Kurt, don’t go! I promise I’ll never kiss you again, I’ll never – I won’t talk to you, I won’t touch you. Just please don’t go.”  
   
Kurt pauses, a dark shape against the glare of the streetlamp, and then he turns. Blaine sighs in relief and Kurt rubs a hand over his face.  
   
“You can’t – when you look at me like that, you _can’t_. It’s not fair.”  
   
Blaine just smiles. “You’ll stay?”  
   
“Stop it. Don’t smile at me like that, you _idiot_. What are you doing out here, you’re wearing a shirt and it’s minus a hundred. Yes, I’ll stay, _god_.” Kurt grabs Blaine by the arms, yanks him up, “Your foot’s swelling up.”  
   
Blaine glances down. “Ouch.”  
   
“Yep. C’mon, idiot. Get inside.”  
   
Blaine hops all the way back into the kitchen, Kurt’s arm tight around his waist. He has to press his face into Kurt’s shoulder in order to turn himself around, and Kurt smells like the leather of his jacket and something spicy and warm. He sighs, hops back onto a stool and props his foot up as Kurt opens the freezer door and tosses a pack of peas at him. Blaine stares at them dumbly and then says “Ow!” when it slaps him in the chest.  
   
“You’re a dumbass.”  
   
“Sorry,” Blaine leans down to fetch it and topples off his chair.  
   
“Jesus. Sit still.” Kurt rummages in his bag, pulls out a roll of tape and fiddles with it for a second while Blaine rests his head in his hands and tries to shake away the fuzziness.  
   
“’S not fun anymore,” he says, “I wanna be sober.”  
   
“Here,” Kurt bangs down a glass of water, “Drink this. All of it.”  
   
He tapes the peas to Blaine’s foot, mutters “God knows you can’t hold it yourself,” and then Blaine grabs his hand. “Are you mad at me?”  
   
“What? Why?”  
   
“Because I kissed you. Are you mad? Because I think – it would make other guys mad.”  
   
“No, I’m not mad,” Kurt taps the table, “Drink your water. It’s probably best if I go get everyone going.”  
   
“No, Kurt, the party isn’t over yet,” Blaine whines, and Kurt snorts. “You can’t walk, Blaine. Stay there.”

Kurt disappears and Blaine grimaces as he takes a sip of water. Now he’s stopped drinking the bitter aftertaste of alcohol is heavy on his tongue and he coughs, yawns. Kurt comes back through.  
   
“I’ve got Finn escorting people out. I think Puck might crash on your floor, though.”  
   
“’S okay,” Blaine drops his head to rest it on the sideboard, “Ugh. _Ugh_.”  
   
“This is why I don’t drink,” Kurt mutters, “Too many repercussions.”  
   
People start to trickle through, then, patting Blaine on the back or calling a goodbye, and Blaine waves in the vague direction of the voices and sighs in relief when Kurt says “That’s the last one. C’mon, tiger, let’s go,” and unpeels the tape from Blaine’s foot with one sharp flick of his wrist.  
   
“Rawr,” Blaine says weakly, clinging to Kurt as he’s pulled upright and hobbles up the stairs, peas forgotten by the fruit bowl. Absent-mindedly, Blaine wonders if they’ll be defrosted by the morning or not.  
   
Kurt drops him unceremoniously onto his bed, leans over him and undoes the bow-tie at Blaine’s throat, cursing under his breath. “God, did you tie this when you were drunk?”  
   
“Yeah,” Blaine laughs, “Yeah, that was funny.”  
   
“I’m sure,” he says dryly, unpicking the knot and tugging the tie off.  Blaine groans. “I’m drunk.”  
   
“Yep.”  
   
“It’s not fun.”  
   
“You’ve said so.”  
   
“I want to go to sleep.”  
   
“Let me take this off and you can.”  
   
Blaine giggles. “You’re taking off my clothes. It’s like a one night stand!”  
   
“Jesus,” Kurt mutters, flicking the buttons of his shirt open, “You’re way too coherent for a drunk person.”  
   
“It runs in the family,” Blaine rubs his eyes, raises his arms obediently as Kurt pulls off his shirt.  
   
“Okay, get into bed. C’mon.”  
   
“No, stay,” Blaine whines, “Stay stay stay. Stay.”  
   
“Blaine. I’m not your mother.”  
   
“No,” Blaine mumbles, “Because that would suck. You’re my favourite, anyway.”  
   
“Sure.”  
   
Blaine grabs his wrist, tugs him until he sits on the bed. “That’s better,” he mumbles.  
   
“God, just go to sleep,” Kurt says, but he tugs the covers up over Blaine’s shoulders.  
   
Blaine falls asleep with a smile on his face.  
   
**  
   
Kurt extracts his wrist gently from Blaine’s grip, pats him on the head and stands, switching off the light as he leaves. Pausing outside Blaine’s door, he touches the pad of his finger to his lips, smiles and shakes his head fondly.  
   
“Blaine Anderson,” he says, “You are one of a kind.”  
   
He’s halfway down the stairs when the migraine hits.  
   
He doesn’t know what causes it, never knows when it’s coming or when it’ll end. It just appears out of nowhere, like a million ice picks attempting to carve a hole in his skull.  
   
Kurt sits down heavily, resting his head on his knees and trying to breathe through the pain. Nausea rolls in his stomach, making him groan. The noise spikes through his head, and the pain rises and swells, and Kurt sinks his teeth into his lip to hold back his cry of pain.  
   
Forcing himself upright, he clamps his hand on the banister and inches down the stairs, one foot at a time with his eyes cracked open against the light. Hissing through his teeth, he shuffles along the ground and then there’s a noise like a gunshot and his vision goes white with pain. The ground rushes up to catch him.  
   
**  
   
 ** _March, 2000_**  
   
Kurt picks up his teapot and carefully pours a cup of water with flower petals for Sprinkles the toy unicorn. “You’re welcome,” he says kindly, and sets it back on the table.  
   
The plastic is peeling and weather-worn, but if he closes his eyes and thinks really hard he can still remember sitting with Mama and talking about the weather and drinking lemonade. Sniffing, he runs his fist under his nose and fumbles in his pocket for his handkerchief. Too late, he remembers that he snuck it into the washing machine that morning after waking up with it all stiff with tears and snot. Aunt Mildred says he shouldn’t cry any more, he’s seven now. He should be able to go the night without waking up crying or screaming for his Daddy.  
   
Pushing back his chair, Kurt scuffs his feet in the dirt as he walks back into Aunt Mildred’s house, wrinkling his nose at the smell of mould. He hates it here; all his friends are back in Lima instead of smelly old Phoenix. The school is horrible and everyone laughs at his bow-ties and nobody wants to play hopscotch with him, so he plays by himself and eats by himself and walks back to Aunt Mildred’s by himself. But he doesn’t really have a choice ever since his Daddy went away. Aunt Mildred says he’s off chasing geese, but Kurt thinks he’s looking for the man who killed Mama.  
   
The doorbell rings, but Kurt doesn’t answer it. Sometimes it’s the boys from down the road. They call Aunt Mildred batty and a witch and they call him a fag, but he doesn’t know what that means and Aunt Mildred doesn’t let him go to the library and look it up there.  
   
Kurt takes the last packet of tissues and carefully pens “TISHOOZ” onto the shopping list in the crayon he keeps next to the pad of paper. Sometimes Aunt Mildred goes shopping by herself, and she never gets what they need to make dinner, so he makes a list and sometimes, when he’s lucky, she’ll come back with half of what he wanted.  
   
Kurt walks down to his tea party table, picks up Sprinkles and continues to the rickety swing at the bottom of the garden, blowing his nose as quietly as he can. Aunt Mildred takes a nap from two o’ clock to four o’ clock every day, and he’s not to disturb her. The last time he did, she smacked him so hard he had to sit on a cushion at dinner that night.  
   
Kurt pushes himself gently back and forth on the swing, staring up at the sky. Sometimes he imagines Mama swooping down from the clouds and whizzing him away to Disneyland, where they can find Daddy and eat candy floss all day. But then he remembers that Mama’s dead, and Daddy’s not coming back either, and he thinks about something else.  
   
The doorbell is still ringing. Kurt swings higher.  
   
Aunt Mildred starts shouting and Kurt winces. Maybe he should have opened the door after all. He swings far enough to push off the rickety old fence with the tips of his toes.  
   
“ – _been_ all this time? Leaving me with this little snot, like I don’t have _better_ things to do,” she yells, and Kurt drags his toes across the ground to stop the swing, brushing the dirt off the tips of his shoes.  
   
The screen door slams and he flinches, starts swinging again. Usually if he pretends not to hear her she’ll go back to bed.  
   
The grass starts crunching and Kurt tightens his fists on the rope. When she doesn’t go back to bed, he gets smacked, and that’s the worst.  
   
“Uh...Kurt?”  
   
Kurt falls off the swing.  
   
But as soon as he’s on the floor there are a pair of big hands lifting him back up, up against a broad chest and he clings to the familiar fabric of his Daddy’s shirt and buries his face in his neck.  
   
“Hey, kiddo,” Daddy rubs his back, “I missed you.”  
   
“ _You came back?_ ” Kurt mumbles into his collar, and Daddy lets out a weird, choked noise.  
   
“Of course I did, Kurt. I’ll always come back for you.”  
   
Kurt starts to cry. Big, hitching sobs with his arms wrapped around Daddy’s neck, holding tight like maybe he can stop him leaving again.  
   
Daddy carries him inside, sits him on the sofa and pulls the crumpled tissue from Kurt’s fist to dab his cheeks dry. His hands are clumsy and rougher than Kurt remembers, but his face is still the same, and his eyes. Kurt says “Are you going to go away again?”  
   
“No, kiddo,” Daddy takes Kurt’s hands in his own, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you.”  
   
“You drove away,” Kurt’s bottom lip wobbles, “I saw you. Don’t shake your head, you did so, I saw you do it.”  
   
“No, buddy, I know. I know I drove away, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”  
   
Kurt says “It’s okay,” because it is. Daddy left, but he came back, and that’s all that matters.  
   
“I got something for you,” Daddy says, unzipping his duffle bag, and he pulls out a big purple sweater. Kurt’s mouth falls open and he grabs it, curling his knees up to his chest so he can bury his face in it.  
   
Kurt holds Mama’s sweater in his fists. It doesn’t smell like Mama anymore but if he tries his best he can still feel her. Daddy is rifling through his duffle bag, his back wider than Kurt remembers. It’s Daddy’s first day back and Kurt feels like he doesn’t really know him anymore. Daddy has more scars on his hands than he ever did before.

Daddy finds a book and sets it down on the table. Kurt watches him flip through the pages, dust motes flying into the air as the pages rustle.

“This is the one,” Daddy says, pointing at the page, and Kurt thinks he sounds different now, even. He misses his Daddy from before. “Moloch.”  
Kurt looks up at Daddy’s expectant eyes. “Moloch,” he repeats, dutifully. He doesn’t understand.

“One day, Kurt, I swear, I will find this demon and make sure he never hurts us again.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Kurt says, and Daddy blinks at him for a little while, ruffles his hair and sighs.

“You grow up too fast, squirt. How old are you now, seven?”

“And a bit,” Kurt supplies. “Almost eight, honest.”  
   
“It makes all the difference,” Daddy agrees.  
   
They leave the next day, Mama’s sweater falling almost to Kurt’s knees as he hauls his wheely suitcase along with Sprinkles tucked under his arm. Daddy turns into a parking lot and then stops, looking around. Kurt spots his old truck, parked in the far corner.  
   
“They left without me,” he says, sounding hurt. Kurt tugs at his sleeve. “Who left, Daddy?”  
   
“Nobody,” he shakes his head, “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you now, haven’t I, bud?”  
   
“Yeah,” Kurt slips his hand into Daddy’s as they walk towards the truck, “And I’ve got you, and we’ll be together forever.”  
   
“We sure will,” Daddy says, squeezing Kurt’s hand, “We sure will.”  
 


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural/Glee crossover. Between transferring to McKinley, joining Glee Club, and attempting (and failing, somewhat) to befriend the enigmatic, slightly abrasive, thoroughly attractive Kurt Hummel, Blaine really should have expected his life to get even more difficult than it already was. Learning exactly - and intimately - what goes bump in the night was exactly the kind of absurd thing his life would throw at him.

**_26 th February 2011_ **

That morning, Blaine wakes up hard, hips pressed up against a pillow. Groaning at the steady drumbeat reverberating through his head, he tries to roll over only for the pillow to make a disgruntled noise and shove him away.

Blaine pushes himself backwards and tumbles off the bed, dragging the sheets with him. Gripping the bed frame for support, he lifts himself up and peers over the edge of the mattress. In the middle of his bed lies a very rumpled and very asleep Kurt Hummel.

Frowning, Blaine reaches out and tugs at Kurt’s outstretched hand. Kurt wrinkles his nose and pulls it back, rubbing his eyes and then turning onto his front.

Boner effectively killed by the shock of waking up next to another guy, Blaine hauls himself to his feet and puts his hand over his eyes as a beam of sunlight makes his head feel like it’s splitting in half. Fumbling over his desk, he finds the oversized sunglasses hooked into the line of fabric pockets nailed to the wall and slips them on over his eyes.

Glancing at himself in the mirror, he grimaces. His hair is a mess, sticking up into a sort of Mohawk and crusted there with gel. His pants are creased and stained at the knee and his undershirt is rucked up at the back. He looks like he fell asleep in a non-leaf-shedding hedge.

Throwing one look back at Kurt, he makes his quiet way out of the room and downstairs.

Cooper is thumping cheerfully around the kitchen, singing along to the radio far too loudly and obnoxiously for the state of Blaine’s head. He makes himself known by dragging out a seat and filling up a glass from the tap, draining it in one.

“Why hello, my most hungover brother,” Cooper sits down next to him with a shit eating grin on his face, “How did you sleep?”

Blaine has to take a few minutes before he can force down the nausea in his stomach and reply. “Like a rock,” he croaks, “Until I woke up with _Kurt_ in my _bed_.”

“Oh, is that his name? He was passed out drunk on the stairs when I got back, so I figured since the guest room isn’t made up the best room to put him in was yours. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I believe you were quite happy about it.”

“Fuck you,” Blaine groans, hiding his face in his hands, “I probably creeped him out, like, majorly.”

“Well, everybody has to experience the fear of waking up with someone you didn’t fall asleep with,” Cooper claps him on the back and completely misses the moan of pain that results, “I recommend getting it done young and then you have the experience when it comes to college.”

“You suck.”

“Nope, that’s you, little bro.”

“I _hate_ you,” Blaine drags himself upright and shuffles towards the door, “I’m going to go and wake him up.”

“Have fun!”

“ _Hate. You_.”

But when Blaine enters his room the bed is empty, and he peers around the side to see if Kurt has rolled off. He hasn’t. Blaine closes his eyes, counts to ten, and opens them again.

Nope, Kurt’s still gone. Blaine’s phone beeps loudly and the noise sends a lightning strike of pain through his head.

Sitting down at his desk, Blaine’s hand crumples a note that (probably) wasn’t there the night before. He picks it up and squints through his glasses, scrunching up his nose.

_had to dash, sorry_  
 _see you later_  
 _kurt x_  
 _(p.s. call finn you should probably know what happened last night)_  
 __  
Blaine groans and rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses, struggling to recall the events of the night before. Just when he feels like he might have grasped it, his phone beeps loudly again from the nightstand and it slips away. His phone beeps again and Blaine groans, wondering if hosting your first party makes you more popular than usual. Standing, Blaine hits the off button on his phone and glares at it, before falling into bed. Last night can wait, sleep most definitely comes first.

**

“Blaine!”

Blaine grunts loudly as a response and throws his pillow at the door, but Cooper pushes it open and holds out the phone. “Mike for you.”

“Tell him ‘m sl’pin.”

“He says that he has a hangover too, so he knows your feels.”

Blaine holds his hand out for the phone.

“ _Hey, man,_ ” Mike whispers, “ _How you doing?_ ”

“Badly,” Blaine grumbles, “Literally never drinking again.”

“ _I completely agree,_ ” Mike says seriously, “ _But I have an entire pot of tea and the Firefly box set. You wanna come over?_ ”

“Please. Cooper has decided that today is a good day to clean the _entire house_.”

“ _Ooh, that sucks. So, see you in, like, an hour?_ ”

“See you then,” Blaine mumbles, and then lets his head fall into the pillow.

“You want me to drive you?”

_“Please_ , Cooper, your enthusiasm is painful.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

“Give me a buzz when you’re ready, then.”

Blaine can tell that Cooper is still standing awkwardly in his doorway, so he pushes himself off his bed and limps past with a soft “I will never forgive you for providing me with alcohol.”

“Love you too, bro.”

Blaine turns the water up as high as he can bear and has the best shower of his life, successfully cleaning all of the gel from his hair and replacing the faint smell of alcohol with that of his body wash. Deciding that today is a day for slobbing and slobbing only, he finds his most comfortable pair of sweats and his old Dalton hoodie, crams a beanie over his curls and has Cooper chauffeur him over to Mike’s.

“Wow,” Mike says when he opens the door, “You look like a hobo.”

“I am comfortable and that is all that matters,” Blaine says, “You promised tea?”

“Follow me, brave soldier,” Mike pats him on the shoulder and guides him up the stairs into his room, proudly labelled _The Bat Cave._

Tina is curled up on the beanbag, wearing Mike’s hoodie and with a large mug of tea cupped in her hands. Blaine feels a pang of jealousy as Mike settles down next to her and wraps his arm around her shoulders, leaving him to take the other beanbag and wrap the comforter around his shoulders instead. Momentarily he thinks of having a body next to him, tall and lean and smelling like leather and spice. And then he dismisses the idea as stupid and settles back to watch the show.

Halfway through the second episode, Mike leans forwards and pauses it, clearing his throat. Blaine looks at him over the top of his tea. “What’s wrong?”

“So, I kind of got a really worrying text from Deaton?”

“Football team Deaton? That one?”

“Yeah,” Mike bites his lip, “Um, do you remember what happened at the party last night?”

Blaine shakes his head, stares down into the depths of his tea and remembers Kurt’s note from the morning. That he should probably know what happened. Oh god, what _did_ happen? What did he do? Was it something stupid? Blaine feels a knot of worry tighten in his stomach.

“Basically, you said some stuff, and Puck texted someone, and now it’s – now it’s kind of all around everywhere?”

Blaine frowns. “What’d I say?” He thinks of that time that Cooper scared him so bad he wet himself at seven, or that time he threw up in the lap of his least favourite teacher in middle school, or –

“Um, not word for word but – you want to kiss Kurt and you’re flamingly homosexual. And then you did kiss him. And I think there might have been some tongue, too. Also you tried to climb into his lap –”

“Mike!” Tina hisses, and Mike shuts his mouth.

Blaine suddenly feels like he’s fallen off the top of the Empire State Building. _Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. This wasn’t **supposed** to happen, not like this_.  
 __  
He fumbles with his tea and some of it splashes onto his leg; he yelps in pain and tries to wipe it off with his sleeve. Mike jumps to his feet with the exclamation of “ _Cloth!”_ and sprints from the room, and Tina leans across and says “It’s okay, you know?”

“It’s really not,” Blaine says tightly, “I should probably go.”

“Blaine, I don’t care if you’re gay or straight or whatever. You’re my friend.”

“You barely even _know_ me?”

“You’re Mike’s friend, and we’ve hung out enough times for you to qualify as my friend. You know the Glee Club won’t mind.”

“It’s not Glee I’m worried about,” Blaine says, thinking back to the freshman kid who’d been slammed into the locker left of Blaine’s with a snarl of _homo_ just for wearing a purple scarf.

“Cloth!” Mike yells, bursting back into the room, and all three of them wince at the volume. “Sorry,” he whispers, and hands the cloth to Blaine who mops at his jeans hopelessly.

“You’ll be okay, you know?” Tina says hopefully, “I know Sam is totally fine with it.”

“Well, then it’ll be you two, Sam and I against the entire homophobic population of McKinley,” Blaine snaps, “That really sounds like it’ll work, doesn’t it?”

Tina looks taken aback and Mike scowls at him. “Dude, no.”

“Sorry,” Blaine puts the cloth on the floor, “Sorry, I just... sorry. I’m just. I’m not ready.”

Tina pats his hand hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t even told my _parents_. How am I –“ he swallows and then closes his eyes, steeling his jaw. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tina and Mike say simultaneously, and Blaine nods. “I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.”

They look at each other and Blaine has to force down the lump in his throat at how easily they communicate without words.

“Are... you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he smiles as brightly as he can and sits back in his beanbag, “Do you want to press play, or...?”

Mike blinks. “Uh, sure.” He settles back into the seat, looping his arm around Tina’s shoulder again and starts the episode.

Blaine waits a minute or so and then finds his phone, turned off after the cascade of texts that had only aggravated his headache earlier that morning. Even more stream in, from numbers he doesn’t know. Determinedly ignoring them, he trawls through until he finds the thread with Kurt’s name on it.

**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_Sorry for skipping out this morning, I was late for work. How’s the head?_ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_Are you dead? You’re usually awake by some godawful hour of the morning, feeding horses or spreading rainbows and happiness or something._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_Rainbows probably wasn’t the best choice of words there. Apologies. How’s your foot?_ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_DON’T CHECK FACEBOOK._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_Sorry for the all caps. Your wall is a bit of a mess._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_Blaine? Are you okay?_ **

Blaine thinks for a moment and then types out a short message. 

**_To: Kurt_**  
 ** _I’m fine. Don’t worry._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _I wasn’t. Just wondering. How’s your foot?_**  
 ** __**  
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _It aches a bit. If I gave you my email and password, could you delete them for me?_**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _Not really. I’m working right now. When I get home, I could._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _Nvm. See you later._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _Okay?_**  
 ** __**  
Blaine scrolls down even further, finds the latest text message from Cooper.

**_To: Coop_ **   
**_I’m out._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Coop_ **   
**_Outside?_ **   
**__**   
**_To: Coop_ **   
**_No. Out. As in not closeted. As in the entire school knows._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Coop_ **   
**_Oh. Do you want me to come and get you?_ **   
**__**   
**_To: Coop_ **   
**_Yes please._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Coop_ **   
**_Be there in ten._ **

“Blaine?” Mike asks, “You okay?”

Blaine says “My brother’s coming to pick me up in a couple minutes.”

“You don’t have to –“

“No, I know,” he nods, “I know. I just. I need to go.”

“Okay,” Tina says, patting Mike’s arm, “Text if you need me, okay?”

“Sure,” he says, and then he leaves because he really can’t stand being in that room anymore.

Cooper pulls up to the house five minutes later, springs out of the car and throws his arms around Blaine’s shoulders in the sort of hug Blaine hasn’t got since he was nine. Blaine grips his brother’s shirt and takes the biggest, deepest breath he can manage and holds it until the urge to cry goes away.

“I’m sorry,” Cooper mumbles into Blaine’s hair, and Blaine shrugs. 

“It was going to happen.”

“Don’t be like that.”

Blaine pulls away. “Can we just go home? Please?”

Cooper looks at him with this face like he’s trying to see through into Blaine’s soul. “Okay,” he says, “Fine. We’ll go.”

Blaine nods and climbs into the passenger side, plucking his phone from his pocket to open the Facebook app.

Kurt wasn’t kidding when he said that his wall was a mess. It’s mostly the football team, as far as he can tell, spamming his wall with caps locked messages of rage and badly-photoshopped pictures of him in compromising positions.

“Squirt? You okay?”

“Not really, no,” Blaine says softly, “Not in the slightest.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Facebook,” Blaine locks his phone and then, after a moment of deliberation, turns it off.

Cooper is quiet for a little while longer. “D’you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Blaine’s voice cracks and he swallows hard, “No. I really, really don’t.” He feels like if he speaks in sentences longer than five words he might start crying and never stop.

He goes up to his room as soon as they get back, shuts the door and curls up in bed with the covers pulled up to his shoulders. He feels like maybe there should be a weight lifted off his chest, but there isn’t. He just feels worse than he ever has before.

Cooper sits on the edge of the bed and takes Blaine’s hand quietly. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

“Maybe,” Blaine says, but even the thought of talking to his parents about being gay makes him feel sick.

“Okay. I’ll let you be.”

“’Kay,” Blaine whispers. Cooper shuts the door behind him, and Blaine buries his face in his pillow and finally lets the tears fall.

**

**_28 th February, 2011_ **

Blaine fumbles with his Bio folder, tries to keep it all together without dropping everything. It’s not even first period and he’s already a mess. He’d had to sneak past Cooper that morning, who was determined to keep him home for the day. Blaine would really prefer to face them, though. Get it over and done with.

Wherever he goes there are people staring at him, whispering behind his back. He’s heard at least three coughed mutters of _fag_ or _homo_ as he walked to his locker that morning, and he’s just waiting for someone to confront him.

And then there’s the sudden pressure of hands at his back, and Blaine turns and starts to smile, expected to see Mike or Sam, but instead it’s _Azimio_ , and then he’s being shoved so he hits the lockers _hard_. Blaine’s head cracks against the metal and he stumbles, falls flat on his face as his hands skid out over the sticky lino. His face hits the ground first, and pain bursts in his nose, his glasses dislodging and skittering across the floor. His Bio folder digs into his stomach and he abstractly notes the sound of all his notes flying out of it as laughter bursts out around the hallway.

“Good morning, _fag!_ ” Azimio yells as he continues down the hallway, and Blaine feels cold shoot through him at the word. He pushes himself upright, ignores the sting of tears in his eyes and the heat flushing through his cheeks, cups his hand over his nose where blood is dripping from it steadily. He pats the other hand across the floor, searching for his glasses, but when someone’s hand comes down on his fingers he stops.

“Blaine? Blaine, oh my gosh, are you okay?” Tina’s voice cuts through the dispersing babble of the crowd and Blaine blinks as a darkish shape kneels in front of him, followed by one mostly covered in blue.

“Mike? Tina?” he asks, voice thick with unshed tears and the pain in his nose, “That you?”

“Here’s your glasses,” Mike says, pushing them onto his face, and then the world suddenly comes back into focus and Blaine sees Tina and Mike kneeling in front of him, looking concerned.

“Ouch,” he says, smiling weakly and fumbling for his handkerchief in his pocked, “Not fun.”

“Are you alright? Do you think it’s broken?”

Blaine touches the bridge of his noise and winces. “No, I’m okay. Just a nose bleed.”

“You sure?” Tina asks, and then _Kurt_ says “Jesus, what the hell happened to you, Anderson?”

Blaine lifts his head to smile at Kurt. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he says from behind the handkerchief, his voice distorted by the fabric.

“Like hell you are,” Kurt grabs his arm to steady him as he stands, “Did someone punch you?”

“Azimio locker-slammed him,” Mike says disgustedly, bending down to pick up Blaine’s scattered notes.

“Assholes,” Kurt mutters, and Blaine shakes his head. “Guys, guys, I’m fine. Just leave it, I’m fine.”

“And I’m a hippopotamus,” Kurt says scathingly, “You’re coming to the nurse, Anderson.”

Tina pushes his Bio file back into his arms. “Take care of him?”

“Duh,” Kurt rolls his eyes and puts an arm around Blaine’s shoulders, “C’mon, space cadet, let’s get you fixed up.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says softly as they walk, “I’m really sorry about Friday.”

“Hm?” Kurt arches an eyebrow, “What for?”

“For, you know. Kissing you. And stuff.” _The one kiss I’m ever going to get with straight Kurt Hummel and I can’t even remember it._

“Jeez, Anderson, I couldn’t care less. It really doesn’t matter.”

“But –“

“Blaine. If you keep trying to apologise I swear to god, I will hurt you. I’m not going to freak out that you’re gay, okay? A kiss is a kiss, doesn’t matter who it’s between.”

A lump grows in Blaine’s throat at that, and he takes a moment to compose himself, pushing down the turmoil of emotions in his chest. “Okay,” he says, and Kurt squeezes his arm.

Kurt stretches the truth to the nurse, manages to persuade her that Blaine was confused and dizzy on the walk to the infirmary as Blaine sits there silently with his head tipped forwards, pinching his nose. She clucks over him, dabs at the blood drying on his polo and eventually calls Cooper to pick him up. When she leaves to find a pack of tissues Blaine clears his throat and says “Thanks.”

“For what? Being a decent person?” Kurt picks at the cuff of his jacket, “You’re an idiot.”

_For giving me a chance to get out of this hellhole of a school for one more day_.

“Gee, thanks,” Blaine takes the tissues the nurse hands him with a smile and dips on in the cup, attempting to clean the dried blood from his face. Kurt clucks at him and whips it out of his hand, balancing himself on Blaine’s thigh so he can lean over and wipe at his face. 

“Like a child,” he mutters, and Blaine tries to make eye contact without crossing his eyes. 

“Are you ever going to say something positive about me?” he asks, half-joking.

“Hm, let me think about that,” Kurt twists his lips in fake consideration, “Probably not.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I am, that’s true,” Kurt throws the tissue into the garbage bin and his sleeve slips down, exposing a large scrape down the side of his wrist.

“Whoa,” Blaine says, “Are you okay? Your wrist...”

Kurt glances at it. “Oh, yeah, that. It’s just –“ he waves a hand, “Unfortunate run-in with a grumpy ghost. Nothing important.”

“It looks painful.”

“Like I said, it was a very grumpy ghost.”

“Aren’t all of them,” Blaine says playfully, “You know, being dead and all.”

Kurt sort of squints at him and Blaine’s cheeks go red. “Sorry, that was tasteless.”

Surprisingly, Kurt laughs. “You’re a strange one, Anderson,” he says, “Nice, but strange.”

Blaine’s lips twitch up into a smile. “I... thanks?”

Kurt shrugs, fiddles with the charm on his necklace. Blaine’s smile grows as he realises something.

“You just said something nice to me.”

“What?” Kurt jumps, “I... _what?_ ”

“You called me nice!” Blaine says triumphantly, “Who knew all I had to do was make a tasteless joke and you’d be nice to me again?”

“Shut up,” Kurt mutters, but he’s smiling and Blaine counts that as a win.

“Hello, my little Houdini,” Cooper booms, sweeping the curtains back and making Blaine flinch, “How’s it hanging?”

“Don’t call me that,” Blaine says as Kurt mouths _Houdini_ to himself and chuckles, “I’m fine, Cooper.”

“Are you sure? Your nose looks broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

“It _looks_ broken,” he turns on his heel, “Drunk guy that I put in Blaine’s bed! How are you?”

“Fine,” Kurt says dryly, “If you’ll excuse me, I have Geometry.” He picks up his bag and turns to face Blaine. “Be careful, Anderson. Don’t trip.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, his mouth going strangely dry, “I won’t.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt waves at Cooper and skips around the nurse, slipping through the door before it closes.

“Huh,” Cooper says, “So, that’s the guy you want to have babies with?”

“Oh my god,” Blaine buries his face in his hands, “Stop talking about my stupid hopeless crush, I hate you.”

Cooper pulls him up by the arm and winks at the nurse as he tugs Blaine out of the infirmary. “No you don’t. C’mon, it’s intervention time.”

“Inter – what?” Blaine hunches his shoulders as they pass the group of jocks that skip first and hang out by the front. One of them notices him and smirks, making an obscene gesture with his hands. It’s Ollie, the boy who sat with Blaine in History and would occasionally engage him in conversation about the latest football game if the fancy took him.

“ – decided it was time to do something about the amount of ice cream you ate,” Cooper is saying, and Blaine tears his eyes away from them and resigns himself to going home and eating the rest of the pot of honeycomb ice cream he knows Cooper hid.

“So sit here and let me drive,” Cooper finishes, and Blaine folds himself into the car and folds his arms, slumping down into the seat. Cooper smiles and turns on the radio, humming along as he pulls out of the parking lot and drives down the street.

“This isn’t the way home,” Blaine sits up, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!” Cooper grins, and Blaine shakes his head wearily. 

“Coop, I just want to go home. Please?

“Nope!” Cooper says, beaming, “It’s a surprise!”

Blaine sighs. “Okay, fine. Just, make it quick? Toddlers and Tiaras is calling me.”

“Unhealthy.”

“Shut up,” Blaine retorts, “I love it.”

“You love watching small children being forced to perform in uncomfortable sparkly outfits?”

“Shut up,” Blaine pulls up the hood of his jacket and Cooper laughs. “Oh, I meant to tell you. Chelsea-the-hot-riding-teacher called and said that Archie needs re-shoeing in the next week, so you need to rustle up some money to pay for that damn horse.”

“Archie,” Blaine says sternly, “is absolutely perfect, and I will not have you trash-talking him. Or Chelsea.”

“He’s an _animal_ , Blaine,” Cooper mutters, “And the thing about Chelsea was a _compliment_ ,” but he keeps his mouth shut anyway.

They eventually pull up outside a small coffee place called The Lima Bean and Cooper shoves him. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Go, go inside.”

“Coop, I don’t...”

“Go or I chuck the ice cream.”

“Screw you,” Blaine climbs out of the car and slams it as pointedly as he can, dragging his feet across the parking lot and pushing open the door. There’s barely a queue, so he stands behind the person ordering and stares up at the menu.

“Can I help you, sir?” the barista asks, and Blaine nods. “Uh, can I have a hot chocolate? With, uh, whipped cream and marshmallows. And cinnamon. Thank you.”

“Small, medium or large?”

“He always has medium,” a familiar voice says, and Blaine spins to see Trent standing behind him, dressed in street clothes with a large smile on his face.

“ _Trent?_ ” Blaine gasps, and his friend grins. “Morning, Blaine.”

“Oh my god,” Blaine flings his arms around Trent and squeezes him, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t –“

“Cooper arranged it,” Trent turns him and nods towards the barista, patiently waiting to be paid, “And could I add a small white chocolate latte and a couple biscotti to that? Thanks,” he elbows Blaine out of the way and hands over a ten-dollar note, waving him away when he tries to hand the change back.

“What are you doing here?” Blaine asks as they walk down the counter to wait for their drinks, “I didn’t know Dalton was closed today.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s the pipes again,” Trent shrugs, “Most of the Science block is out so they cancelled lessons.”

“Ah, I remember the days of health and safety,” Blaine says wistfully, and Trent arches an eyebrow. 

“Come now, McKinley can’t be that bad?”

“The cheerleading coach tried to shoot someone out of a cannon, Trent,” Blaine smiles at the (very cute) barista who hands them their drinks and plate of biscotti, “And everyone uses the bathrooms at the Chinese place down the road because apparently there are snakes in the ones at school.”

“Oh,” Trent pulls a face as they sit down at a table at the back, “That sucks.”

“Plus, during my second week there I discovered that the jocks’ idea of fun is to throw slushies – you know what slushies are, right? Yeah, they fill up a cup, find their target for the week and throw them at you. Right in the face,” he shudders, “It’s like being slapped by a bag of frozen peas.”

“Oh, god,” Trent grimaces, “That sounds barbaric.”

“You’re telling me. The purple –“ Blaine puffs out a breath, “Impossible to get out. They ruined my favourite polo with that.”

“Wow,” Trent fiddles with his biscotti and purses his lips. Blaine sighs. “So, why did you want to meet up?”

“What? I – that’s preposterous! I don’t need a reason to want to see a good friend, you –“

“Trent,” Blaine laughs, “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. Come on, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Trent sighs, “News of your recent coming out has reached Dalton via one Cooper Anderson. He said you ate an entire litre of ice cream yesterday, so we called an intervention.”

Blaine tilts his head. “A coffee intervention?”

Trent shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Their biscotti is –“ he closes his eyes, “ _Perfection_.”

“I’m sure the Italians would beg to differ,” Blaine grins, and Trent waves a hand. “So, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t sleep much last night, probably the ice cream, but –“

“No, Blaine. I mean, are you _okay?_ ”

Blaine cups his hands around the hot chocolate and thinks. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not really,” he shrugs half-heartedly, “I just don’t. I was going to try and sort out – who I could and couldn’t talk to at school today, but that didn’t work out.”

“Oh?” Trent eyes him over the top of his coffee, “What happened? Actually – take it from the beginning. Tell me _everything_.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, and starts talking.

It only takes him about twenty-five minutes to explain everything, scooping the whipped cream off the top off his drink with the biscotti as he talks. Trent makes occasional noises of shock or disappointment, but mostly he just lets Blaine grumble and mutter and whine.

Once he’s done he takes a sip of his hot chocolate and waits quietly for Trent to gather his thoughts.

“Well,” Trent says eventually, “You could always say that Puck was making it up and you actually said you were flamingly _heterosexual_.”

“I think the point of that is slightly nullified by the fact that I made out with Kurt about two seconds later,” Blaine says, “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hold up, you didn’t say _made out_ ,” Trent says, “You said kissed. You said you _kissed_ him!”

“I did!” Blaine smiles awkwardly, “But, you know, apparently there was tongue. And stuff.”

“Blaine Anderson, you _dog!_ ” Trent gasps, “What happened to the dapper young man I once knew?”

“He got a crush?” Blaine says, feeling his cheeks heat up, and Trent narrows his eyes.

“I’m not sure if this Kurt you’re talking about is a good match for you.”

“Why?” Blaine’s grin fades, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Well, you know, he wears leather and probably smokes –“

“He doesn’t smoke,” Blaine says, and Trent eyes him. 

“Just because you’ve never seen him smoke, doesn’t mean he doesn’t. Hey, I could introduce you to this guy that goes to Dalton, he’s _really_ cute.”

“It’s hopeless, anyway,” Blaine sighs, “He’s straight. And he’d be way out of my league if he even were gay –“

“Save it for the bedroom, homos,” some girl spits as she walks past, and Blaine’s hands tighten so hard on his cup that the cardboard buckles and hot chocolate splashes out onto his hand.

“ _Ow_ , _shoot_ , that burns,” he shakes his hand quickly and grabs a napkin from Trent’s outstretched hand, biting his lip.

“Sorry about that,” Trent says breezily, “She’s the sister of one of those assholes at Dalton. Every time I come here she makes some nasty comment.”

Blaine swallows hard and says “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?”

“People like that?” Blaine worries at his lower lip, “I just, I don’t know how to deal with it. I could do this if I didn’t care, but I do. Every time someone says something like that –“ _it makes me want to cry_ he wants to say, but he stops himself and takes a large gulp of hot chocolate.

“Listen, Blaine,” Trent says, “They’re idiots. Okay? All of them. They’re just,” he waves a hand, wrinkling his nose, “Stupid. Okay? It used to get to me too, in middle school, but then I decided that in ten years I would be at the top of the ladder in photography and they? They will be working in McDonald’s. So next time someone calls you anything, just imagine them standing behind a counter covered in chicken grease asking people if they’d like fries with that, while you’re a famous show-jumper with three Olympic gold medals under your belt or whatever.”

Blaine’s mouth falls open and Trent frowns. 

“What?”

“That’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard you say about anyone,” Blaine says, shocked, “It’s like a whole new Trent.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Trent sits back in his seat, “You’re so mean to me.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, and Trent gestures at him. 

“So what are you going to be top of? Dentistry? Business? Are you going to take your obsession with the four-legged and unpredictable to the next level?”

“Theatre, duh,” Blaine says, relieved to move the conversation away from his inability to deal with homophobes. Trent nods. 

“Of course, Broadway?”

“Where else?” Blaine grins, “I want to be the next J. Pierrepont Finch.”

“Oh really,” Trent smirks, “You may just have to fight Thad for it.”

“Thad can eat my dust,” Blaine winks and Trent laughs. “There he is. Good old Dalton Blaine.”

“Good old me,” Blaine echoes, but he feels like Dalton Blaine might be gone for a while. Dalton Blaine certainly didn’t wake up in the middle of the night with his underwear sticking to him and the fading memory of a hand cupping his cheek and lips against his.

No, Dalton Blaine hasn’t been around since someone turned to him and asked if he had something to say.

**

Blaine catches a lift home from Trent, waves goodbye from the porch and unlocks the door to the sound of shouting. Familiar shouting.

He swallows down the greeting about to leave his mouth and listens carefully, barely making out the words ‘stove’ and ‘unsalvageable.’ He kicks his shoes away and tiptoes past the kitchen, hoping to get up to his room without catching his mother’s attention.

“Blaine?”

Blaine freezes for a moment, and then turns to find his father standing in the doorway to the living room. He smiles, opens his arms. “Going to skip past your old Dad without giving him a hug, huh?”

Smiling, Blaine skids back across the floor and gives his Dad a strong, quick hug, as is the Anderson way. Dad claps him on the shoulder. “How are you doing, Blaine?”

“I’m...” _gay, and getting hell for it_ , “Fine, Dad. How are you? How was Poland?”

“Poland was the last one. France was very long, but with some really quite fantastic history that I could _not_ persuade your mother to give a second look at. How’s your new school? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here often enough to talk to you about it.”

“It’s fine, Dad,” Blaine says, smiling, “But I’ve got homework, you know. Stuff to do.”

“Of course,” his father claps him on the shoulder, “Study, study!”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, walking backwards towards the stairs, “See you at supper?”

“Sure,” Dad says, already distracted by something on his phone.

Blaine escapes up the stairs before his mother can finish yelling at Cooper for whatever he’s done to the stove and start pinching his cheeks.

There’s a couple of messages on his phone when he gets upstairs, flopping onto bed with an overdramatic sigh.

**_From: Mercedes Jones_ **   
**_Heard what happened – u can count on me if u need to :)_ **

He smiles at that – he and Mercedes have been sort-of-friends since they sung a duet for the Valentines Day assignment. 

**_From: Tina_**  
 ** _Got your ur bio notes, will give 2moz._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _You got blood on my jacket_**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _Not like it’s the first time but_**  
 ** __**  
 ** _From: Kurt_**  
 ** _BLOOD ON MY JACKET. Forget what i said before, i’m angry._**  
 ** __**  
Blaine laughs out loud, and then claps a hand over his mouth like his parents might descend from the ceiling and interrogate him about who he’s texting.

**_To: Mercedes Jones_**  
 ** _Thank you. Really. I appreciate it._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _To: Tina_**  
 ** _You’re awesome._**  
 ** __**  
 ** _To: Kurt_**  
 ** _Salt and cold water! My mother swears by it._**  
 ** __**  
He rolls onto his back and picks up A Storm of Swords to pass the time, tapping his fingers idly across the pages before he gives up and pulls out his laptop, opening up Facebook.

Slowly and determinedly, he goes through his page deleting comments and blocking users and imagining every single shirtless-and-tensing profile picture covered in a McDonald’s uniform. It doesn’t quite dull the ache in his chest at every comment of _fudge-packer_ or _faggot_ or _fairy_ but it does bring a small, tentative smile to his face every time he thinks about asking David Karofsky for a cheeseburger with fries.

**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_I’m not an idiot, you know. Remember the whole hunting the things that go bump in the night for half my life? I can clean blood like a pro._ **   
**__**   
**_To: Kurt_ **   
**_No, actually, you’ll have to tell me about that._ **   
**__**   
**_From: Kurt_ **   
**_I suppose I will._ **

**

“Hey, Finn,” Blaine says cheerfully as he walks by Finn’s locker. As usual, the jock is buried under tonnes of paper, searching frantically for his sheet music for Regionals. He mumbles a hello back, and then Karofsky grabs Blaine by the front of his shirt and slams him up into the lockers.

“Hey!” Blaine yelps, feeling the vents digging into his back, “What –“

“You trying to turn him, queer?” Karofsky snarls, “You tryna make him one of you?”

Blaine manages to pushes him away, his feet hitting the floor again. “I just said hey,” he says defensively, and Karofsky shoves him so hard his head clangs against the metal.

“You keep away from him,” he says, his face so close to Blaine’s that he can smell the reek of his breath, “We don’t need any more fairies like you on the team. You hear me?”

He leaves Blaine shaking and unsteady against the lockers and lumbers through the crowd, shoving at unsuspecting freshmen. Blaine collects himself, takes a deep breath and straightens his back, tipping up his chin. Finn, having excavated himself from the mound of paperwork, waves. “Hey, Blaine. You okay?”

“Fine,” Blaine says, “I’m absolutely fine.”

The rest of the day continues in much the same way. Blaine is locker slammed, glared at, and called every offensive name under the sun. The only highlight comes when he and Sam perform some carbon-copy pop song in front of an uninterested crowd for McKinley Sexual Awareness week, and that’s barely an enjoyable thing by itself. By the time Glee comes around and Mr Schue is emphatically talking about Regionals and their competition – _The Warblers, eek_ – Blaine is so tired he barely listens.

“Hey.”

Blinking his eyes open, he turns his head to see Kurt offering a can of something.

“What’s that?” he asks, blinking, and Kurt winks. “Red Bull. You look like you need it.”

Gratefully, he takes the drink and grimaces slightly at the taste, flashing a smile at Kurt. Kurt grins and salutes.

Suddenly, Glee seems much easier to work through.

Blaine spends an extra fifteen minutes organising his sheet music for the next few days so he can avoid meeting any of the jocks who hang around after football practice hoping to dumpster unsuspecting Glee members. Once he’s sure they’re gone, he slings his bag over his shoulder and hurries down the hallway, keeping his head down.

He reaches the parking lot without a problem and is only a few feet from the road when his feet go flying out from underneath him.

Blaine hits the ground with a thump and lies stunned for a moment before the first kick slams into his chest. He curls into a ball automatically, shielding his head as the jocks – and they must be jocks, who else would do this? – grunt and snarl and swear at him, yelling things like “Just because Evans is one of us!” and “Don’t need to see your stupid fairy club performing like that!”

Suddenly _cold_ is dumped over his head and Blaine gasps as slushy washes over him, drenching his head and chest in purple ice. Blinking behind his glasses, he catches his breath and sits up, trying to rub his eyes clear. Blurrily, he catches sight of a bunch of lettermans jackets running away.

For one pathetic moment, he wishes that his mom were there to help him up and soothe his pain and yell at the boys who’d hurt him. But she’s not, so he picks himself up painfully and wipes the worst of the slushy off with his hands, and slowly makes his way back home.

**

Blaine sits down at the counter and thumps his arms loudly onto the marble.

His parents look up simultaneously, his father from his laptop and his mother from her tablet. “Sweetheart,” she says, her eyes widening, “What happened to you?”

_A bunch of jocks cornered me as I left Glee, got a couple of kicks in and then emptied three cups of purple slushy over my head. Just because I sang a duet with Sam in assembly today._

“I got beat up,” he says thickly, the words coming out wrong because of his split lip, “And slushied.”

“This is unacceptable behaviour, this school is supposed to have a no tolerance bullying policy,” his dad says sharply, “Who did it?”

“I didn’t see,” Blaine says truthfully. The initial shove had nearly knocked his glasses right off his face.

“Still, I’ll go and talk to the principal tomorrow. Marie, you should –“

“Caden, I have a meeting.”

His father drops his voice. “Marie, this is our _son_. He was attacked for no reason and –“

“They had plenty of reason,” Blaine says.

Caden looks at him. “What?”

“They had plenty of reason,” he repeats, “In their opinion, I’m sure.”

“Blaine, what are you talking about?” Marie asks, and without really stopping to think Blaine says “I’m gay.”

The room goes completely and utterly silent. Blaine sits up, tilts up his chin even though he can feel the sticky corn syrup drying on his back and chest. His mother is frozen in her seat, clutching the tablet like it’s a lifeline. Her eyes sharpen and her mouth presses into a thin line. And then, abruptly, she stands up and walks out.

“Mom?” Blaine says, and she just shakes her head. Hopefully, he turns back towards his father.

“I think you should go and shower, Blaine,” he says, “I’ll talk to your mother.”

Blaine nods, blinking quickly and sliding off the stool. Caden peels off into the living room and Blaine takes the stairs two at a time despite the throbbing pain in his ribs, thinks about calling Cooper and asking him to take him back to Westerville.

He showers quickly, just long enough to get the corn syrup off and then he dries off, finds a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and takes a few minutes to tame his hair. Then he grabs his phone and clips Mouse’s lead on and slams the door behind him.

He gets halfway down the road before he realises he doesn’t know where he’s going. It’s getting dark but he just keeps walking, Mouse trotting quietly alongside, occasionally pausing to examine a nice-smelling lamppost or road sign.

After half an hour he spots a familiar figure walking ahead of him, boots dragging across the floor a little. Breaking into a jog, Blaine calls “Hey, Kurt? Hey!”

Kurt spins, looking shocked, and then his face splits into this smile that lights up the entire street. “Hey, Anderson. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Why, where am I?” Blaine asks, coming to halt, and Kurt looks around before bending down to greet Mouse. “Well, this is the fine establishment of Lima Heights. Are you out clubbing?”

“No,” Blaine says, shrugging, “Just walking.”

Kurt frowns, peers up at him. “Hey – what happened to your face?”

“Oh, that,” Blaine waves it off nonchalantly, “Just a couple guys after Glee, it doesn’t matter.” He nearly pats Kurt’s shoulder but pulls his hand in just in time, shoving it in his pocket instead.

“Sure,” Kurt says, tugging his beanie down on his head, “And I’m a purple hippo.”

“Are you?” Blaine asks playfully, but Kurt just stands and steers him back down the street. “Seriously, Blaine. What happened?”

“It was just some jocks,” Blaine stiffens as Kurt slings an arm over his shoulders, the movement easy like he didn’t even think about it, “They didn’t like... my duet. Today. With Sam.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Kurt says, and Blaine swallows. “I came out. To my parents.”

“Oh.”

“My mom walked out,” Blaine laughs humourlessly, “It’s funny, I thought my dad would always be the one to reject me, or whatever. Motherly love and everything.”

Kurt squeezes his arm. “That sucks.”

“I know, I,” he swallows hard, “I just hate the way she reacted. She didn’t even say anything, she just looked at me like I was. Disgusting.”

“I’m really sorry –“

“Forget it,” Blaine shakes his head, blinking rapidly to try and alleviate the threatening tears, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Okay,” Kurt stops next to a truck that Blaine recognises and unlocks it. “You coming?” he says, and Blaine thinks he detects a shard of hope in Kurt’s voice.

“I’ve got,” Blaine gestures at Mouse, but Kurt shakes his head. “I don’t mind. Just stick him in the back.”

“Um, okay,” Blaine pulls the back door open and Mouse jumps up obediently, sitting on the floor and poking his nose between the front seats.

Blaine climbs in beside Kurt, says “Where’re we going?”

“Home, obviously,” Kurt says, digging in his bag and throwing a small tub at Blaine, “Because I have decided to dye my hair.”

Blaine examines the tub in the meagre light available. “Blue?”

“Red doesn’t resonate with my style, and green is just –“ Kurt pulls a face, “Egh.”

“Huh,” Blaine tilts the tub and then glances at Kurt, “Any reason why?”

“To piss off my father,” Kurt shrugs, “For fun, because I needed a change, because brown hair is boring... so many reasons.”

“I don’t think your hair is boring,” Blaine says, and then clears his throat and looks away hastily.

“Well, it’s not like I can go back,” Kurt sighs, “I’ve already bleached the tips.”

“You’re not dying all of your hair?”

“ _God_ no,” he laughs, “I’m not crazy. What if I hated it? I really don’t want a repeat of the hair bleach incident of 2007.”

Blaine settles back into his seat. “What happened?”  
“Oh no, I’m not telling you a thing.”

“C’mon!” he whines, “I won’t judge you! I’ll tell you about the time I straightened my hair?”

“Tempting as that is, no.”

“What if I told you about the time I tried to cut my own hair?”

Kurt sighs. “Okay, okay. Basically, I was fourteen and angsty, and I thought it would be really fun to bleach my hair to piss off my dad, because he was being all lordy over me and trying to make me come home, so I bleached my hair to be ‘rebellious,’” he takes his hand off the wheel to make quote marks around the word, “But it ended up looking tacky and cheap, and I didn’t have the time or money to dye it back. So I had to wait until we finished the job before I could shear it all off, and I looked _hideous_ , everyone teased me. Never again.”

Blaine tries to imagine Kurt with bleached-blond hair and bursts out laughing, covering his mouth at Kurt’s dead-eyed glare. “I’m sorry, I just, the mental image is _hilarious_.”

“I’m glad you’re laughing,” he mutters, “What about you?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Oh no, mine could never match up to yours. That’s just – _perfect_.”

Kurt smacks him on the thigh. “You promised.”

“Fine, fine,” Blaine’s thigh is stinging in a sort of pleasant way and he crosses his legs to dull the feeling, “I was seven, and I was getting teased at school for having really long curly hair, but Mom wouldn’t cut it because she was _really_ possessive about my hair. So I stole the kitchen scissors – don’t laugh! – I stole the kitchen scissors when she was talking to her friends and started just chopping off massive chunks of hair, like entire handfuls. When she came back in she screamed so loud that one of the neighbours came over to see what was going on.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt chuckles, “Please say you have pictures?”

“Yeah, well, I did it on a Saturday evening and our hairdressers were closed, so I had to stay like that until Monday morning when she kept me off school to have a private hairdresser come and correct the damage. Cooper took an entire disposable camera’s worth of pictures, I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to get them out and show you.”

Kurt smiles at him, his teeth flashing in the street lamps, and Blaine turns the pot of dye over in his hands and stares out of the windscreen.

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, and soon they’re turning onto Kurt’s street and parking outside his empty house.

“Dad and Carole are out with friends,” Kurt explains, “And Finn’s off jerking off in the bushes or whatever he does for a hobby.”

Blaine shudders at the image and Kurt laughs, jumping down from his seat and waiting by the hood of the car for Blaine to get Mouse and follow him.

“Is it okay if he comes down the stairs?” Blaine checks, and Kurt waves a hand. “I’ve got an old beanbag he can sleep on, don’t sweat it.”

Blaine’s never been into Kurt’s room before. He’s been over to the Hummel-Hudson’s for video game marathons and movie nights but the basement door has always been firmly shut, and Finn’s room was at the other end of the house. The basement is surprisingly clean and neat, with a few old books lined up on the bookshelves. Kurt places his jacket on the back of his desk chair and nods to the beanbag in the corner as he unbuttons his shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket.

Mouse flops down in the middle of the floor quite comfortably and Blaine stands awkwardly, not entirely sure where to sit. From the bathroom, Kurt calls “Make yourself at home!” and then emerges with a towel over his shoulders, pointing at the bed. “I swear, you are the politest person I’ve ever met.”

“Blame my parents,” Blaine says, instead choosing to wander over to Kurt’s bookshelf and run his thumb down the dusty spines so he can read their titles clearly. Nudging his glasses up his nose, he pulls one out and turns it over to examine the back.

“Peter Pan, huh?” he asks, and then Kurt snatches the book from his hands and slams it back into the shelves. Blaine flinches, bringing his hands up to his chest in shock, and Kurt runs a hand through his hair.

“Your _hair_ ,” Blaine says, and Kurt blinks. “What? Does it look bad?”

“No, it’s just. It’s weird,” he says, eyeing the blond streaks at the tips of Kurt’s hair, “I’m sure it’ll look great blue, though.”

“Really?” Kurt looks hopeful, “You do?”

“Sure!” Blaine goes to pull another book out of the case and then pauses, glancing at Kurt for verification and Kurt nods, moving forwards to join Blaine.

“Peter Pan scared me,” Blaine offers, “Especially the Disney movie, ugh. Gave me nightmares. My brother used to stand outside the door with his alarm clock so I could hear the ticking and then snap his teeth.”

“Your brother sounds like an asshole,” Kurt says dryly, “No offence.”

“None taken, he kind of is,” Blaine pulls another book down; _The Northern Lights_.

“Philip Pullman fan?” he asks, and Kurt shrugs. “I liked to think of myself as Lyra. Barely seeing her father, never met her mother and managing to go on all of these amazing adventures.”

“Mm,” Blaine puts it back, “Harry Potter was my escape, to be honest.”

“I know,” Kurt says, “There’s pictures of you dressed up as him on your pin board.”

Blaine grins. “I was a kick-ass Harry.”

“Sure you were,” Kurt pets his hair and then turns away, “I’m going to go get started on my hair.”

“Go ahead,” Blaine says, rising up onto his toes to pull at a book with faded golden lettering. Something else slips off the top, sending a cascade of dust bunnies down over his head and shoulders, and he grabs it before it smacks him on the head.

Bringing it down to eye level, he frowns at the edition of Vogue he’s holding. It’s recent, and a smile spreads across his face as he recognises the person on the cover.

“Marion Cottilard!” he yells, and Kurt shouts “What?”

“Vogue! Marion Cottilard was my favourite cover,” Blaine moves to lean against the bathroom doorframe, looking in and – wow, okay, Kurt is shirtless and bent over the bath, blue hair dye spattered over his shoulders and smeared across his fingers. Blaine’s mouth has gone dry and he swallows futilely a few times, his eyes fixed on the smooth expanse of Kurt’s back, pale with the exception of a _tattoo_.

“I still can’t hear you,” Kurt’s saying, and Blaine squeaks “Never mind, it wasn’t important – you have a tattoo?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt says distantly, “I’ve had it for years.”

“Finn said you didn’t.”

“Finn’s an unobservant idiot, Anderson, don’t trust what he says.”

Trying not to seem creepy, Blaine inches forwards to peer at Kurt’s shoulder blade. The tattoo is black, a delicate bird straining up towards his shoulder with a ribbon tied to one leg, winding down his shoulder blade to the base, where a simple black anchor chains it down. Looking closer, Blaine pinpoints the spot where the ribbon turns to chain.

“It’s nice,” he says eventually, “A nice design.”

“Don’t you go stealing it,” Kurt says jokingly, and the image of them having matching tattoos sends a pleasant shiver down Blaine’s spine.

“Of course not,” he says, licking his lips and then realising how creepy that must look, “Um, your hair looks good.”

“You think?” Kurt straightens up, the comb jammed in his hair at a jaunty angle, and Blaine has to quickly avert his eyes from Kurt’s chest. _God, I am such a creeper. I’m probably freaking him out_.

“It looks great!” he says, his voice about two octaves too high, “Um, I’m just going to –“

“Sure,” Kurt says, “Go ahead and read any books you want, I don’t really visit them that often.”

Blaine smiles and bobs his head, drops Vogue on Kurt’s bed and walks back to the bookshelf quickly. He feels warm and his cheeks are red, the image of Kurt’s back forever emblazoned into his mind. Attempting to distract himself, he picks up the copy of Peter Pan, flicking through the pages without really reading them. When his fingers brush over lumpy, torn paper instead of the smooth page he was expecting he snaps out of his lust-induced haze and glances at the book, and then nearly drops it in surprise. The page is crusted in rust-red paint, and part of it is ripped away. Frowning, Blaine lifts it closer and catches the distinct tangy smell of blood.

He puts it back hurriedly, swallowing hard, and wipes his hands on his jeans. He really hopes that’s not human blood.

“You okay?” Kurt’s voice from behind him makes him jump and he staggers back, hand over his heart. 

“You scared me!”  
“Sorry,” Kurt holds up his hands, “Just wondering, you seemed kind of shaken up.”

“Just –“ Blaine shakes his head, “Silly home stuff.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt touches his wrist, “That sucks.”

Blaine shrugs and then changes the subject quickly, “I found that Vogue in your bookshelf, is it yours?”

Kurt turns to face his bed and freezes up. “No! No, it must be Carole’s. Uh, I’ve never seen that before.”

“Oh, shame,” Blaine picks it up and replaces it on the shelf, “That’s my favourite cover. Do you want me to take it upstairs or –”

“No! No, I’ll do it later, don’t worry,” Kurt says in a sort of strained voice. 

Blaine cringes inwardly. _Way to go, Anderson. Real great way of making someone **not** awkward around you_.

“So,” Kurt says, tugging at his shower cap, “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” Blaine says, and promises himself to be a lot less creepy.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural/Glee crossover. Between transferring to McKinley, joining Glee Club, and attempting (and failing, somewhat) to befriend the enigmatic, slightly abrasive, thoroughly attractive Kurt Hummel, Blaine really should have expected his life to get even more difficult than it already was. Learning exactly - and intimately - what goes bump in the night was exactly the kind of absurd thing his life would throw at him.

Unsurprisingly, Blaine’s relationship with his parents doesn’t really get that much better.  
   
After that night spent at Kurt’s where he’d woken up with one message ( _call us if you need to be picked up_ ) the subject of Blaine’s sexuality had been largely ignored apart from one incident where his mother suggested meeting a nice girl – Blaine promptly replied _I’m gay, Mom, I told you a week ago_ and nobody had mentioned a thing about it since. Well, not until now.  
   
“Blaine Anderson, _get back here_ –“  
   
Blaine slams the front door behind him and stomps down the street, folding his arms against the chill March breeze. Archie had thrown his second shoe in three weeks and Blaine had had to shell out the last of his allowance to pay for _another_ shoeing, and then the poor horse had caught a cold and spent all his time staring despondently at Blaine as if it was all _his_ fault. And as if that wasn’t enough, Blaine’s parents had skipped out on his Regionals performance and his mother had attempted to justify it by explaining she’d meeting with friends Blaine knew for a fact she doesn’t even _like_ , and somehow it had turned into a shouting match about how Blaine was expected to go on to live a ‘normal’ life when he was doing so many ‘gay’ extracurriculars. His dad had just stayed quiet, like always. So Blaine walked out.  
   
It’s nearly nine and it’s dark and Blaine’s starting to wish he’d had the sense to call Mouse with him, or maybe storm up to his bedroom instead. But he can’t go back, not now, that would be admitting defeat, and he’s a little bit too proud for that.  
   
So instead he keeps on walking, rubbing his hands over his arms wondering how long it would take him to walk to Mike’s house on the other side of town.  
   
He’s trying to map out a potential route when a car draws up beside him and the window rolls down. Having had water balloons hurled at him from jocks while walking home before, he automatically lifts his hands and says “I don’t want any trouble, I’m just walking home –“  
   
“Home’s in the opposite direction, genius,” Kurt says, winking, “I wanted to know if you wanted a lift to wherever you’re going.”  
   
Blaine drops his arms and finds that smile that always appears when Kurt’s around growing on his face. “I’m not really going anywhere.”  
   
“Well, that’s good, because I am. Wanna come with?”  
   
Blaine thinks for a second, _maybe I should go home and face them_ , but he doesn’t want to. He really, really doesn’t want to have to deal with the disappointment and the irritation on his parents’ faces.  
   
“Sure,” he says, and walks around to climb into the passenger seat.  
   
Kurt tosses him his jacket as soon as he’s sat down, saying “You look cold,” and turns up the heating. Blaine smiles gratefully and shrugs on the leather jacket, still warm from when Kurt had been wearing it and smelling _exactly_ like him. Blaine has wheedled enough hugs out of him in the past two weeks to know to a creepy level what he smells like.  
   
“Hair looks good,” he comments, and Kurt grins. “Doesn’t it? They weren’t lying when they said it was strong, it hasn’t faded even a little bit. And my dad got so mad he banned me from using his card for the next three weeks.” He looks so proud that Blaine can’t hide his smile.  
   
“So, where are you whisking me off to?” he asks as Kurt turns on the radio, tapping his fingers against the wheel, “Anywhere dangerous?”  
   
“Okay, this is not going to be like the time where you walked in on an exorcism, that was your own fault,” Kurt warns, “I go to this place all the time. It’s like my relaxation spot.”  
   
“At nine on a school night?”  
   
“Shut up, you’re out here as well.”  
   
“True, true,” Blaine sighs heavily and Kurt nudges him. “So what was it this time?”  
   
“Apparently Glee Club turned me gay,” Blaine grumbles, “Despite my one and a half years in the Warblers. And they won’t give me any money to re-shoe my horse.”  
   
“Parents,” Kurt says, and Blaine makes an affirmative noise.  
   
“You’ve never told me about your horse, though,” Kurt nudges him, “What’s his name?”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine pulls his knees up to his chest, “He’s Archie, he’s an ex-polo pony. I’ve had him nearly half my life.”  
   
“Wow,” Kurt blinks, “I didn’t take you for the horsey type.”  
   
“Oh, no, I’ve been riding since I was five and Cooper took up polo at Dalton,” Blaine laughs, “My parents bought me Archie when I was nine and I haven’t yet grown out of him. He’s my oldest friend, bar Trent.”  
   
“That’s kind of sad,” Kurt looks at him, “Your best friend is a horse, Blaine.”  
   
“Hey, don’t judge,” Blaine grins back, “He’s lovely. You should meet him, some day. I could teach you to jump.”  
   
“The likelihood of me getting on a horse is about as high as the likelihood of me moonwalking into Congress and dancing like Michael Jackson in front of the President,” Kurt says, and Blaine shakes his head. “Just you wait and see, Kurt Hummel. I’ll get you singing, and I’ll get you on a horse. Trust me.”  
   
They pull into a field and Kurt stops the truck, opens his door. “Get out, c’mon. We’re here.”  
   
“Are we cow-tipping or something?” Blaine asks as he follows, and Kurt laughs. “Nope, idiot. Here, hold this,” he tosses a large pack of Lays at Blaine and vaults into the trailer, stretching out a hand to help Blaine up.  
   
“So what are we doing?” he asks, and Kurt grins. “Well, usually I sit here and eat and meditate on life, but now you’re here I suppose I’ll have to make actual conversation.”  
   
“Wow, poor you,” Blaine says dryly, tearing open the bag and grabbing a handful of chips. “That must be terrible.”  
   
“It really is,” Kurt sighs heavily and tugs Blaine’s arm out of the way to get at the chips.  
   
They lie in silence for a little longer, steadily making their way through the bag and watching the sky. Kurt tilts his head, says “Do you know any constellations?”  
   
“A few,” Blaine says, “Do you?”  
   
“I suppose.”  
   
“Which ones?”  
   
“Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion, Sirius, Leo,” Kurt shrugs, “The basics.”  
   
“Mm,” Blaine rolls onto his side and stares at Kurt’s profile, illuminated by the full moon. His eyes are closed and he looks so beautiful it aches, low in Blaine’s chest.  
   
“Can I ask you a question?”  
   
“Sure,” Kurt says, eyes still closed, “Ask away.”  
   
“Are angels real?” _Because I sincerely think you might be one_.  
   
Kurt’s eyes open slowly. “No. No, they aren’t.”  
   
“Are you sure? I just figured, demons, so there must be the good counterpart...”  
   
Kurt flips himself onto his side and fixes Blaine with his scarily piercing glare. “Okay, Anderson, let me get this straight. You may think that there is a good thing for every bad thing, but guess what? There isn’t. There’s demons but there aren’t angels, and there’s a devil but there isn’t a god. And if there is, it’s doing a supremely shitty job of helping protect us.”  
   
Blaine’s voice catches and sticks. “I – I don’t think God works like that.”  
   
“What would you know?” Kurt’s voice is abruptly icy, “You’ve never met it.”  
   
Blaine blinks and mumbles an apology, feeling like he’s completely ruined the peaceful atmosphere they’d established before.  
   
“Doesn’t matter,” Kurt says, and folds his arms.  
   
Blaine licks his lips and says hopefully “So, um, are there werewolves?”  
   
Kurt keeps staring up at the sky.  
   
“C’mon, Kurt, don’t deprive me of this knowledge. It’s nearly a full moon, I must know how to protect myself.”  
   
A smile twitches at Kurt’s  lips but he doesn’t turn, and Blaine pouts. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m chewed and mangled. My mood goes right downhill.”  
   
Kurt laughs and sits up, scooting back against the back of the truck. “Okay, god. Yes, there are werewolves. I’ve tracked one once.”  
   
Blaine mirrors him. “Really?”  
   
“Took us four months and I got held back a year of school, but we did,” Kurt smiles smugly, “It was fun.”  
   
“Four months?”  Blaine exclaims, “Wow, you must have taken a while.”  
   
“ _Excuse_ me,” he flips Blaine off, “One full moon a month, and otherwise untraceable unless you can count not knowing what you did while sleeping, which _nobody_ can. We closed in on it on the third, but you can’t kill everyone in an apartment building because you don’t know which one is the homicidal crazy who turns into a wolf-human during the full moon.”  
   
“Wow,” Blaine says, “That’s kinda scary.”  
   
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Believe me, those guys are rare as rare. I’ve heard of one in ten years, and I killed it.”  
   
“You killed it?”  
   
“Yep,” Kurt says proudly, “Shot it right through the heart.”  
   
“But – isn’t there a cure?”  
   
“Oh, sweetheart,” Kurt shakes his head, “Once you’re bitten, you’re gone. No cure.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine says, “That’s sad.”  
   
Kurt shrugs.  
   
“Oh hey! What about dragons, are they real?”  
   
Kurt scoffs. “No. And before you ask, neither are leprechauns, fairies, or unicorns.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine says sadly, “That’s disappointing. Well, what about vampires?”  
   
“Never met one. They’re real, but they’re near extinction.”  
   
“Ah! Shapeshifters. Are those real? Because it sounds pretty, you know, cool to be able to turn into animals and stuff –“  
   
“That’s skin-walkers,” Kurt says, his voice going oddly tight, “And there is nothing cool about shapeshifters.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine says, “Sorry.”  
   
“Doesn’t matter,” Kurt says, “I’m cold. Let’s get going.”  
   
“Sorry, I took your –“  
   
“Doesn’t _matter_. Come on, let’s go. It’s getting late.”  
   
Blaine grabs Kurt’s offered hand to jump down from the trailer and breathes out a sigh of relief at the warmth of the truck once he gets in. “What are you doing out here so late, anyway? I’m always seeing you around, just, walking.”  
   
“What do you think,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “The streets of Lima aren’t going to protect themselves.”  
   
“Ah,” Blaine nods, “Of course.”  
   
“To your home, good sir?”  
   
“Yes, please,” Blaine sighs, “To home.”  
   
**  
   
 ** _15 th March, 2011_**  
   
The doorbell rings and Blaine leaps up off his bed, snagging his wallet from the nightstand and rolling his eyes as the bell keeps ringing shrilly throughout the house. “I’m coming, I’m _coming_ , geez,” he mumbles, kicking aside his boot bag from his time at the stables that afternoon and opening the door and his wallet at the same time, “Okay, how much do I – _Kurt?_ ”  
   
“Hi,” Kurt says, “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”  
   
“No, I just – I thought you were Chinese food, sorry. Are you okay?”  
   
“Not really,” Kurt grimaces, “May I come in?”  
   
“Wh – sure, of course, I’ll make space for you on the –“ mentally, Blaine flicks through available seating options “On my bed! On my bed. Um, why don’t you go on up and I’ll join you in a second.”  
   
“Sure,” Kurt winces as he clips the doorframe on his way past and Blaine worries at his lower lip and wonders what’s wrong.  
   
He collects a couple of pieces of fruit and a packet of chips and then, just to be safe, the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink as well.  
   
“Okay,” he knocks the door open with his hip and then nearly drops everything at the sight of Kurt shirtless in the middle of his bedroom.  
   
“Um,” he says, “I? What?”  
   
“Sorry,” Kurt winces and twists to look at his back, “I fell through some stairs and now I’ve taken most of the skin off my back.”  
   
“What?”  
   
He turns and Blaine scrunches up his face at the grazes across Kurt’s back.   
   
“Is it bad?” Kurt asks, and Blaine says “Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”  
   
“Yeah, but, _how_ bad?” Kurt twists and they both flinch as blood starts welling up in the scrapes.  
   
“Okay, hold still,” Blaine grabs his phone and holds it up, “Want me to take a picture?”  
   
“Sure,” Kurt glances over his shoulder, “Should I flex, or...?”  
   
“Very funny,” Blaine laughs and snaps the picture, “Here.”  
   
“Thanks,” Kurt takes the phone and then pulls a face. “Oh god, that’s worse than I thought.”  
   
“Mm,” Blaine does his best not to stare at Kurt’s chest, “Yep.”  
   
“Ugh, this is gross. They’re all dusty.”  
   
“Shame,” Blaine says blankly, his eyes zooming in on the four tiny metal studs resting against Kurt’s collarbone.  
   
“I’m a purple spotted hippopotamus that likes to listen to Nickelback.”  
   
“I know – wait, what?”  
   
“You were staring,” Kurt says dryly, “I was just being helpful.”  
   
“No, yeah, I just – I never noticed the piercings before,” Blaine says lamely, trying to quell the hot surge of want in his belly. He’s gotten pretty good at that, lately.  
   
“Oh, yeah, those,” Kurt shrugs, “They were my birthday present to myself. Happy being eighteen.”  
   
“They’re what, your second ones?” Blaine asks, and Kurt shakes his head. “Third. I pierced my own ear when I was fourteen. Second was my tongue.”  
   
“Ah,” Blaine nods, and that brings his eyes level with Kurt’s chest and his nipples and –  
   
“Shower!” Kurt says suddenly, “Can I shower? I’m covered in dust.”  
   
“Yeah,” Blaine nods, “Um, should I clean your back when you’re done?”  
   
“That would be great,” Kurt smiles and then inches towards the door, “I’ll be back in a moment.”  
   
“Sure,” Blaine says, “Um, have a nice. Shower.”  
   
“Thanks,” Kurt waves and then shuts the door behind him and Blaine throws himself on the bed dramatically.  
   
“ _You will never get a boyfriend_ ,” he grumbles into his pillow, kicking his legs, and then the shower turns on and now all he can visualise is Kurt naked and wet and – _no._  
   
Blaine sits up and decides that it’s time to do some homework.  
   
When Kurt emerges (damp and adorably flushed and still shirtless) Blaine has been staring at the same algebra question for at least twenty minutes. Thankful for an excuse to put it down, he stands and says “Want me to take another look?”  
   
“Sure,” Kurt seats himself on the bed and turns so his back is to Blaine, “Are you qualified for this, though?”  
   
“Sure,” Blaine says “I sat in on a twenty minute lecture about dressing wounds on horses once.”  
   
“Great, I feel so reassured.”  
   
Now Kurt’s washed all of the dust and blood off the grazes look like scrapes in some places and scratches in others. “Kurt, how did you get these?”  
   
“Well, that’s a funny story,” Kurt flinches as Blaine touches his fingertip to one of the scratches, “I was at that abandoned hotel, trying to exorcise a demon, and it turned out to be particularly tetchy. I tried to swing from the landing to kick it down the stairs, but the wood broke and I kind of followed it _through_ the stairs instead.”  
   
“Jesus,” Blaine pours some disinfectant onto a cotton wool pad and wrinkles his nose when it slops onto his sweatpants, “That sounds nasty.”  
   
“He was,” Kurt sighs, “But good prevailed, and the meat suit is now sleeping peacefully in one of the old beds. Hopefully when he wakes up he’ll just think he was high.”  
   
“Hopefully,” Blaine nearly smothers his laughter against Kurt’s back but then realises how incredibly _creepy_ that would be and he immediately wants to strangle himself, “Okay, this is probably going to sting.”  
   
“Ow, _Jesus fucking Christ Blaine_ –“  
   
“Sorry, sorry!” Blaine drags the cotton wool down one of the shallower scratches and pats Kurt’s shoulder, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
   
“Sure you didn’t, sadist,” Kurt mutters, but he doesn’t shift away.  
   
Blaine continues in silence, sweeping the disinfectant across the scratches and putting a reassuring hand on Kurt’s arm when he jumps and twists away, hissing in pain.   
   
“Sorry,” Blaine murmurs, “Didn’t mean to do that.”  
   
“It’s fine,” Kurt yawns and then the doorbell goes.  
   
“Chinese!” Blaine jumps up again, grabbing his wallet, “I’ll be right back!”  
   
He pays the delivery man and carried the bag full of Chinese food back up to his room, grinning. “Want some? I ordered plenty, and Coop’s not in tonight.”  
   
Kurt looks surprised. “Wow, thank you. What is there?”  
   
“Um,” Blaine peers in the bag, “Beef chow mein, spring rolls, something else with beef, something more with chicken, fortune cookies, shrimp crackers, and tofu. Oh! And sticky ribs.”  
   
“Wow,” Kurt blinks, “Mind if I have the ‘something else with beef?’”  
   
Blaine hands him the carton and a pair of chopsticks and takes the chow mein for himself, balancing the carton on his thigh so he can eat and tend to Kurt’s back at the same time. Kurt alternately makes sounds of contentment at his food or yelps in pain if Blaine presses too hard or uses too much disinfectant.  
   
“So, how’s your dad?” Blaine asks eventually, the silence trying his nerves, “Is his diet going okay?”  
   
“He’s reluctant, but I’ve stocked all the junk food in my room, so he doesn’t really have a choice but to eat his rabbit food,” Kurt twists to look over his shoulder, “Are you nearly done?”  
   
“Yeah, just trying to work out how to dress them,” Blaine holds up different sized band-aids, “Any ideas?”  
   
“I could always do it when I get home,” Kurt volunteers, but Blaine shakes his head.   
   
“It’s probably a good idea to get them covered up, even if it’s only the deeper ones.”  
   
“Just use the biggest you’ve got, then, and if it’s uncomfortable I’ll fix it when I get home,” Kurt smiles at him, “Thanks, for this.”  
   
“No problem,” Blaine peels the backing off the biggest bandage and tries to still his shaking hands, “Hold still for me?”  
   
Kurt bends his head forwards again and Blaine gets a little distracted by the back of his neck before he manages to stick the plaster down and smooth it out carefully. Curling his hands into fists to steady them, he covers the other two biggest scrapes before he sits back and says “Done, I think,” and takes a bite of noodles.  
   
“Thanks,” Kurt grins, “Here, I did your algebra for you.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Yeah, you made a mistake here, so I just,” Kurt shrugs, “corrected it.”  
   
“Wow, thanks,” Blaine grins, “You saved me from a detention.”  
   
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “The dashing and dapper Blaine Anderson in detention? I’d never believe it.”  
   
Blaine blushes for some stupid reason and gathers up the bits and pieces of the first aid kit, smiling. “You’d be surprised.”  
   
“I’m sure I would,” Kurt clears his throat, “Thank you for the food and the first aid.”  
   
“No problem,” Blaine nods towards the cupboard right of his bed, “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”  
   
Kurt arches his eyebrow at Blaine. “Watch a movie or _watch_ a movie?”  
   
Blaine blinks. “Watch a movie? Do you want to watch something else, or?”  
   
“No, I was –“ he waves his hand, “Never mind. Yes, I would love to watch a movie. I would also love to borrow a shirt.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine blushes harder, “Of course, yeah, sorry. Um, hold on a second,” he dumps the first aid kit on his desk and rummages through his dresser, eventually finding an old t-shirt that looks like it might fit Kurt.  
   
“Here. It’s not really your style, but – um. Yes.”  
   
“Thanks,” Kurt’s eyes are twinkling with amusement, “I owe you.”  
   
Blaine grins bashfully and half-turns towards the movie cabinet. “What do you want to watch?”  
   
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kurt taps his chin thoughtfully, “How about Casino Royale?”  
   
Blaine laughs. “Of course.”  
   
Kurt shifts sideways on the bed to make room for Blaine and pats the mattress. “Come on then, Casanova. Let’s get this movie evening started.”  
   
Blaine tries not to let his stomach flip at the nickname.  
   
**  
   
 ** _20 th May 2011_**  
   
“Jeez, I’m tired,” Blaine yawns, flopping down face-first onto Kurt’s bed, “I’m so glad finals are over.”  
   
“Mm,” Kurt says, sitting down next to him, “Hey, isn’t it your birthday, soon?”  
   
“Yeah,” Blaine rubs his face against the comforter, “Four days.”  
   
“What do you want?”  
   
Turning his head, Blaine frowns at Kurt. “You don’t have to get me anything.”  
   
“Yeah, well,” Kurt blushes and shrugs, “You’ve been, you know, great to me, so I figured. I should.”  
   
“Aw, thank you,” he reaches out and squeezes Kurt’s hand and tries to stop his heart from yearning when Kurt squeezes back, “You’re the best friend ever.”  
   
Kurt laughs and then gets up, picking up his laptop. “You wanna watch a movie? Take your mind off our crushing loss at Nationals?”  
   
“Ugh, geez, don’t remind me,” Blaine rolls over and pulls a pillow over his face, “I nearly threw up in my mouth.”  
   
“I know the feeling,” Kurt sighs, “Or rather, the taste.”  
   
“Quick, put on Casino Royale before I get stuck in a flashback!” Blaine squirms upright and grins as Kurt slides the DVD into the drive and waits for it to load. “So, what do you want for your birthday?”   
   
“A boyfriend,” Blaine jokes, “That would be awesome. Or free tickets to New York, to find a boyfriend so I’m not the only loner in the club.”  
   
“Hey, I’m single,” Kurt says, and Blaine drags the mouse over to the play icon, “Yeah, but you’re not gay, so at least you have the potential to get a girlfriend. All I have is Trent, and that’d be like dating my brother, or something.”  
   
“I can see why you might want to date Cooper,” Kurt says helpfully, and Blaine groans.   
   
“ _Kurt_.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“That _is_ my brother.”  
   
“He’s hot!” Kurt shrugs, and Blaine sighs. “I know. I know.”  
   
“So embrace it,” Kurt drops his voice as the movie starts, “Ride off his glory! Use his attractiveness as a way to get guys?”  
   
“Nah,” Blaine slumps down and sighs, “Who would want me over Cooper- I’m-an-amazing-journalist-from-Medill-and-I’m-so-perfect-Anderson?”  
   
Kurt goes quiet. Blaine mumbles “Exactly,” and turns the volume up.  
   
Casino Royale has sort of become their go-to movie. Blaine enjoys appreciating Daniel Craig’s washboard abs and British accent. Kurt appreciates the low-cut dresses and expensive cars. Occasionally, one of them will make a comment about the action, but it’s mostly just ogling their respective interests over cushions or bowls of popcorn.  
   
Kurt pauses the movie just as Bond comes out of the ocean and Blaine whines and reaches forwards to press play again, mumbling “This is the best bit!”  
   
“I need to tell you something,” Kurt says, rubbing his hands on his thighs nervously, “And I need you to listen, because it’s important.”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine knocks the lid of the laptop down regretfully, “I’m here.”  
   
“So,” Kurt starts, “I thought that you knew, probably, I’ve been – hinting at it, for a while, because I knew it’s something you’d be able to – support me in. So.”  
   
“Kurt,” Blaine says, “I will always support you. Even if you enjoy kicking puppies or something, I will support you. I promise.”  
   
“Oh, god,” Kurt sighs, closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists. “Okay. I’m gay.”  
   
Blaine’s voice gets stuck somewhere in his throat and his mouth opens and closes like a fish. “I – what?”  
   
“Never mind,” Kurt says hurriedly, “It doesn’t matter, it’s – let’s just watch the movie, come on.”  
   
“No, no, Kurt,” Blaine shuffles so Kurt can’t reach the laptop and grabs his hands, “It’s okay, you know that, right? It’s fine.”  
   
“It doesn’t matter,” Kurt repeats, steadfastly avoiding eye contact, and Blaine does the best thing he can think of and hugs him.  
   
Kurt goes stiff and startled under his arms at first, but then he relaxes and hugs back, breathing shakily against Blaine’s neck. Blaine squeezes him as tight as he can, trying to convey everything he can’t say into his touch. _I care, it’s okay, it’s fine, I love you, I love you, I love you_.  
   
Kurt stays in his arms for a few more seconds and then moves back, smiling. “Thank you.”  
   
Blaine just smiles. “I’m guessing you want me to keep mum?”  
   
“Oh, god,” Kurt laughs, “Yes, please. I just. Not ready, you know?”  
   
Blaine squeezes his hand. “I know.”  
   
He shuffles back around so Kurt can hit play on the movie again, and this time they settle in pressed against each other, the laptop balanced on their knees. Hesitantly, Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and squeezes lightly. Kurt squeezes back.  
   
Blaine’s too wrapped up in his thoughts to make his usual comment about how painful using stirrups with bare feet is. Instead, he wonders if he has a chance with Kurt.  
   
 _He’s gay, at least, which is a step forwards_ , Blaine shivers a little, _my god, he’s **gay**. I might actually have a chance. Possibly. Oh god, what if he likes me back? What if he wants to **date** me?_  
   
“Blaine, you know New York?”  
   
Blaine unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and swallows, “Uh, not personally, but yeah.”  
   
“You know what I mean,” Kurt swats his arm, “Well, I was thinking, you know, if I maybe got a mechanics job in New York or something –“  
   
“Hey, no, don’t limit yourself,” Blaine knocks their shoulders together, “I’ve heard you sing, Kurt, and you’re amazing.”  
   
“Shut up,” Kurt mumbles, blushing, “You’re missing the point. When I graduate, I’m thinking of moving out there.”  
   
Blaine whistles. “Wow, that’s – wow. You’ll have to let me visit.”  
   
“Well,” Kurt says, “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to live with me. When you graduate. If you went to New York.”  
   
Blaine’s mouth falls open. “You’d – you’d want to live with me?”  
   
Kurt rolls his eyes. “Blaine, you’re like a flawless roommate. You cook, clean, don’t take ages in the shower...”  
   
A pleasant little shiver runs through Blaine’s body. “I – wow. God, _yes_ , I would love to live with you.”  
   
“Good,” Kurt claps his hands and bounces a little on the spot, “That’s great. Wonderful, even.”  
   
Blaine nods and grins. _Four years of living with Kurt_. “Absolutely fantastic, one might say.”  
   
**  
   
 ** _24 th May 2011_**  
   
“Could you explain why I’m about to lower myself into a sewer on my birthday? I thought I was going to get a present,” Blaine asks, and Kurt waves him forwards. “It’s fine, it doesn’t smell. Your present comes later.”  
   
“Sure, it doesn’t smell,” Blaine grimaces as he lowers himself into the manhole, “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”  
   
Kurt grins at him from behind the scarf wrapped around his face and Blaine pinches his nose. “I’m going to be sick.”  
   
“No time for that.” Kurt helps him down from the ladder, “There’s tracking to be done.”  
   
“Okay, you need to give me the whole story, I’m feeling very behind,” Blaine says, trying not to breath in. _God,_ he can taste it in the back of his throat.”   
   
“Basically, there’s been a bunch of petty crimes done by people who also have incredibly solid alibis,” Kurt explains, setting off down the tunnel, “Solid like being at a family dinner or school club or even caught on CCTV at least five or so miles from the scene of the crime, when the crime was being committed.”  
   
“Petty crimes like what?” Blaine says, jogging to keep up with Kurt.   
   
“Like holding up a corner shop, trashing a bar,” Kurt frowns, takes a left at the fork and marks their route with a piece of chalk. “But whoever’s doing it always disappears right into this alleyway, and there’s no way out apart from the sewers.  
   
“Maybe there’s a secret passage?”  
   
Kurt just raises an eyebrow and Blaine blushes. “Okay, sorry, stupid question.”  
   
“You’d be surprised at how many supernatural creatures think that the sewers are a decent hiding place. It could be anything, really. Could be ghouls, sirens, anything.”  
   
“But, you said ghouls had to feed on the flesh of someone to take their form.”  
   
Kurt looks at him. “There is more than enough flesh on a human body to feed two ghouls, Blaine.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine says, “Ew. Wait, how do I know I’m not a ghoul? You said they could download memories?”  
   
“You’re not a ghoul,” Kurt grabs his hand and squeezes it, “Trust me.”  
   
Blaine’s stomach twists and flutters warmly. “Okay,” he says, his voice coming out as a sort of squeak.  
   
“It’s not likely to be ghouls though, because they wouldn’t need to do any of the things they’ve been doing,” Kurt continues, “So it could be a Siren, but that’s risky and kind of a long shot, especially since they just take any pretty form and it’s basically never for anything but sex.”  
   
“So it’s not a ghoul or a siren. What else could it be?”  
   
“I don’t know,” Kurt says, “I really don’t.”  
   
“Well,” Blaine grimaces as something pink and slimy gets stuck to his boot, “Can we go home, then?”  
   
“Man up, Blaine, I just need to work out what it is,” Kurt smiles at him, “And _then_ we can go.”  
“Good,” Blaine says, “Because if we spend much longer here I don’t know if I’ll ever get the stink of sewer out of my clothes.”  
   
“Tell me about it,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “I have thrown away so many good jackets because of impromptu sewer expeditions.”  
   
Blaine scrapes his boot across the ground, trying to dislodge the slime. Kurt focuses his flashlight on the floor and hums under his breath, sweeping it back and forth as they walk. Blaine can’t help himself from turning around every now and again, shining his flashlight down the tunnel to check they’re not being followed.  
   
“Blaine, I promise you, we’re going to be fine,” Kurt reaches back and takes his hand, “Swear on my life, okay?”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine jumps as something drips onto the path ahead of them, “Okay, I’m fine.”  
   
“Good,” he squeezes Blaine’s hand tight and tugs him along gently, silhouetted by the light of his torch. Blaine swallows and takes a deep breath. _Not gonna die, not gonna die, not gonna die_.  
   
“Jeez,” Kurt says after a while, “I think we’re done. No more trail, and I’m ti – whoa, Blaine, watch out!”  
   
Blaine’s ankle turns and he slips, but Kurt grabs his jacket and hauls him up again, nearly dropping his flashlight. Blaine screws up his face and then yelps, pointing at the curved wall of the tunnel. “Is that _skin?_ ”  
   
Kurt steadies Blaine with one hand and inches closer, squinting. Blaine shifts his feet and something crunches underneath them, and looking down he realises he’s standing on teeth.  
   
“Kurt, this is weird,” Blaine shines his flashlight down the tunnel but there’s nothing there. Kurt’s not moving, he’s just standing there, staring at the disgusting mess on the wall. Blaine turns and shines his torch down the other end of the tunnel.  
   
There’s a figure standing there.  
   
Blaine screams and that seems to snap Kurt out of his trance – he grabs Blaine’s wrist and sets off running down the sewer, his flashlight forgotten on the floor. The footsteps follow inhumanly fast and Blaine can hear laughter, _familiar_ laughter that he’d heard only a few weeks ago, collecting his books after someone had knocked them to the floor.  
   
“Kurt –“  
   
“ _Shh_ ,” Kurt hisses, pulling him right so abruptly it feels like his shoulder is being wrenched from its socket. Blaine slips and scrambles upright again, glancing over his shoulder and nearly hitting the floor face-first at the sight of _Karofsky_ pursuing them, grinning demonically and laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s completely naked and somehow that makes it scarier, being pursued through the sewers by his tormentor, who is buck-ass naked. Blaine almost laughs.  
   
Suddenly there’s a series of gunshots and Kurt loses his balance, sending them both crashing to the floor. Karofsky lets out an inhuman screech and his footsteps fade again.  
   
“Who are you?” Kurt shouts, and then he has his gun out too and Blaine is starting to feel very ill.  
   
“Kid, calm,” someone steps out of the shadows – a man holding a camcorder in one hand and a handgun in the other, “We’re here to help.”  
   
“Put the gun down,” another voice says, but this one is female. She’s holding a larger gun, still aimed down the tunnel, “We don’t need some kid with a gun thinking he can handle a shifter.”  
   
“What’s a shifter?” Blaine asks, and all three of them shush him.  
   
“Guys, guys, just chill, okay?” a third voice calls, “It’s gone back to the dark hole from whence it came, I checked. It’s gone.”  
   
“I repeat,” Kurt snarls. “Who. Are. You?”  
   
“Who’s the kid?” the third guy asks, and the woman shrugs.   
   
“How the heck should I know?”  
   
“The _kid_ is Kurt Hummel,” Kurt pushes himself upright and moves in front of Blaine, training the gun at the first man, “Feel like returning the favour and telling me who _you_ are?”  
   
“Wait, _Hummel?_ As in, Moloch-the-demon-killed-your-Mom Hummel? Look at how much you’ve grown, jeez, you were knee-high last I saw you at the Inn!”   
   
“Wonderful,” Kurt says through gritted teeth, “Please tell me who the _fuck_ you are?”  
   
“Sure,” the first man shrugs, “I’m Matt, that’s Harriet, and this is Cam.” He points to the woman and the other man in turn.   
   
“Hi,” Blaine says, still waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, “I’m Blaine, nice to meet you.”  
   
“Hi, Blaine,” Harriet says, “How you doing?”  
   
“Shush, B,” Kurt says, and Blaine feels a little thrill go through him at the nickname, “You’re not helping.”  
   
“Let the guy talk,” Matt says, fiddling with the camcorder, and Blaine waves. “I’m fine, thank you.”  
   
“God, Blaine, _shut up!_ ” Kurt yells, and Blaine recoils, hauling himself upright. “Kurt, I –“  
   
Kurt shrugs off his hand and lets the gun fall, scrubbing his sleeve fiercely across his eyes.   
   
“Kurt?” Blaine asks softly, “Are you okay?”  
   
“I just want to know what’s going on.”  
   
“Um, okay,” Cam looks at Matt, who looks at Harriet, who shrugs. “May as well.”  
   
“Basically, there’s a shifter –“  
   
“A shapeshifter?”  
   
“Yeah, that’s what I said. A shapeshifter. Anyway, there’s one knocking about over here, so we decided to head over here to get rid of it.”  
   
“A shapeshifter,” Kurt repeats, and his face has gone so pale he looks like a ghost, “Are you certain?”  
   
“Well, unless you know any other creature who can shed its skin and teeth like it’s their favourite thing to do, yes, I am certain.”  
   
Kurt licks his lips and closes his eyes, sighing. “Okay, fine. We’ll let you get on your way.”  
   
“What?” Matt asks, “You don’t want to help? I mean, I figure you know how to handle a shifter from the look on your face, so...”  
   
“Matt!” Harriet hisses, looking furious. Matt shrugs. “What! Four heads are better than three.”  
   
“Oh, so the short guy doesn’t count,” Blaine says dryly, rolling his eyes when nobody listen to him.  
   
“I have schoolwork,” Kurt says coldly, “I’m sorry.”  
   
“Kurt,” Blaine mutters, “School’s over.”  
   
“Shut _up_.”  
   
“Sorry.”  
   
“Well, okay then,” Harriet glances at Cam, who nods. “Want a hand out?” he asks, shouldering his gun.  
   
“Yes please!” Blaine says hastily, “That would be wonderful.”  
   
Cam waves goodbye to the other two and sets off the opposite way they came, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. Kurt doesn’t move, so Blaine slips their hands together tentatively and tugs him along. Kurt’s palm is clammy and cold and he’s clutching his elbow with his spare hand, his shoulders slumped.   
   
“So,” Blaine tries, “What brings you to Lima? Apart from, uh, the shapeshifter.”  
   
Cam shrugs, “Not much. Just visiting an old friend.”  
   
“Oh, who?” Blaine disentangles Kurt’s hand from his and wraps his arm around Kurt’s waist instead.  
   
“Nobody in particular,” he shrugs and directs them to the right. Blaine squints – he thinks he can see a faint glint of light a way away. Kurt stumbles and Blaine squeezes his hip. “You okay?”  
   
“Fine,” he mumbles through clenched teeth, “Absolutely dandy,” and pulls out of Blaine’s reach, folding his arms and straightening his back, tipping up his chin.  
   
Blaine can’t really think of anything to say so he just tugs his sleeves down over his hands and follows quietly.  
   
The first breath of fresh air is like a blessing and Blaine hauls himself out of the manhole, groaning at the stink that clings to his clothing. Kurt is talking softly to Cam, his shoulders hunched. Blaine peels his jacket off and holds it at arm’s length, grimacing. Cam pats Kurt on the shoulder and waves to Blaine, lowering himself back into the manhole.  
   
“Okay?” Blaine asks softly, and Kurt shudders. “No. No, I don’t think I am.”  
   
“Well, I can see why seeing Karofsky chasing you naked would freak anyone out,” Blaine grins, managing to tease a tiny smile from Kurt’s lips.  
   
“We’ll steer away from the sewers this summer, huh?” he nudges against Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt sighs. “Yeah. I guess we will.”  
   
**  
   
 ** _25 th May, 2011_**  
   
The call comes just as Kurt is tearing his room apart for the fourth time, searching for his phone. Finn comes thundering down the stairs, yelling “It’s for you, it’s Blaine!” and Kurt snatches it from his hand and says in a relieved voice “Hey, sorry about not replying if you’ve been texting, my phone’s missing –“  
   
“ _Kurt? Kurt, fuck, I messed up, I need you.”_  
   
Kurt stops, sits on his bed and puts his hand over his other ear, blocking out the music from the kitchen. “Blaine? Are you okay?”  
   
“ _Oh, god, you called – but it wasn’t, it wasn’t you, and I – I went and now it’s after me_ –“  
   
“Blaine? Sweetheart, you need to calm down. Blaine, calm down, you’re not making any sense. Blaine, breathe, okay? In and out. Tell me what’s going on.”  
   
“ _You called me,”_ Blaine’s voice is soft and strained, as if he’s desperately trying not to make any noise, “ _But it wasn’t you, it was the – it was the **shifter** , and I went back to the sewer and now – Kurt, it’s playing with me, and I can’t get out, I’m lost and I don’t know what to do, it’s going to kill me._”  
   
Dread coils tight in Kurt’s stomach and he feels like throwing up. “Blaine, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. I’m coming to get you, right now, okay? I’m coming to get you, and you’re going to be fine, but I need to you to calm down.”  
   
He hears Blaine take a deep breath and then let it out shakily, crackling over the shaky connection. “Okay. Now, have you got a flashlight?”  
   
“ _I turned it off_.”  
   
“Turn it back on, on the lowest setting. Okay, are you near a corner?”  
   
“ _Yeah._ ”  
   
“Good. Go check, does it have a white arrow on it?”  
   
“ _Um. Yes?”_  
   
Kurt sighs in relief. “Okay, that’s good. I’m going to get you out of there, Blaine. I need you to follow the arrows, okay? Just follow where they point and they’ll lead you back to the manhole we came in through last time. Okay?”  
   
“ _Okay._ ”  
   
“Good. Blaine, I’m going to go now, but I’ll be there soon, okay? I’ll be there waiting for you. I promise.”  
   
 _“Okay. I’ll see you in a moment, Kurt._ ”  
   
“See you,” Kurt waits until Blaine puts the phone down and then jumps off the bed and takes the stairs two at a time.  
   
He shoves through the mass of testosterone absorbing half-burned pizza and tugs on his boots, yelling “I might not be back!” and getting a half-grunted response from Finn. Just as he opens the door, the phone rings.  
   
He fights his way back through the football team and picks up the house phone, slamming it against his ear.  
   
Blaine’s voice says “ _Hey, Kurt, I just figured something out – can you meet me at the manhole? I might need a hand_.”  
   
“Sure,” Kurt says distractedly. It doesn’t make sense for Blaine to call again so soon after the first call, there’s no way he can have made his way back to the manhole yet, and Kurt’s mind is whirring. _Gotta ask a question that the real Blaine would know the answer to,_ he thinks frantically, _but it knows what he knows, what do I ask_?  
   
 “Um, can I ask you a question? Just gotta check you’re not the _thing_ , you know,” he laughs fakely.  
   
“ _Oh, sure, go ahead. Hit me_.”  
   
“Okay,” he glances down at his clothes and asks, “What am I wearing today?” _The real Blaine shouldn’t know this._  
   
There’s silence for a moment and then not-Blaine says “ _Black jeans, a red striped Henley and suspenders?_ ”  
   
A smile curls his lips. “Now listen to me, you son of a bitch,” he says silkily, “You better leave him well alone, because I swear if there is _one_ scratch on him when I find him I will _skin_ you and cut out your heart before I saw off your head. Is that clear?”  
   
“ _Crystal_ ,” Blaine’s voice says, and the line goes dead.  
   
Kurt slams the phone back down against the table, ignoring the shocked looks from the jocks standing around him and says “I’m going out now. Might not be back.”  
   
“Uh, Kurt, are you –“  
   
“I’m fine,” Kurt says, and walks out of the house.  
   
The manhole is only a fifteen minute drive away, and he grabs his gun and his last pack of silver bullets before he gets out. As an afterthought, he takes the silver knife with the ebony handle too. Who knows if he’ll have to make good on that promise.  
   
Two steps towards the manhole and someone’s calling out his name. Kurt barely stops, lets them follow him.   
   
“Blaine’s in there,” he says tightly, “And it’s going after him.”  
   
“It’s probably best if you leave this to the professionals,” Harriet says sharply, and Kurt loads the gun. “I’m plenty professional.”  
   
“No offense, kid, but you look twelve.”  
   
“I can handle a gun and a knife, and that’s all I need,” Kurt looks up and down the tunnel, hoping Blaine will magically appear. Apart from storming into the sewers with his gun and a scowl, he hasn’t really thought this through.  
   
“Look,” Harriet continues, “We don’t know where he is, but we do know that the shifter is just toying with him. What it wants is us, or he’d be dead already. He’ll come to us.”  
   
“I need to find him,” Kurt insists, “It’s my fault he got into this mess, I need to help him.”  
   
“Kurt, you can’t –“  
   
“ _I have to!_ You don’t get it. Just let me be.”  
   
“Kurt –“  
   
 _“Kurt!_ ”  
   
He spins on his heel and Blaine is right there, doubled over and panting with one hand against the wall for support. And then a figure looms up behind him.  
   
“Behind you!” he yells like it’s some stupid pantomime, and then not-Blaine’s arm comes around Blaine’s throat and wrenches him upright.  
   
Blaine chokes and lifts his hands to tug at not-Blaine’s forearm but he can’t budge it. Kurt shifts forwards to do _something_ , but someone’s hand is on his wrist and they’re tugging him back as the shifter walks Blaine towards them, the glint of a knife at its side.  
   
“Let him go,” Kurt says, his voice barely making a sound, “Please, just let him go.”  
   
“What?” Blaine’s voice teases, “You’re not going to skin me and cut my heart out like you threatened?”  
   
Kurt can feel his heart thumping in his chest and he just whispers “Please.”  
   
“Kurt,” Blaine croaks, and Kurt just feels _weak_. He can’t do anything, he can’t save Blaine and he can’t kill the shifter and he can’t do a thing.  
   
“Put him down, asshole,” Matt snarls, stepping past with his gun raised, “Or I’ll blow your head off.”  
   
The shifter doesn’t reply, simply hauls Blaine up so any direct shot will have to go straight through Blaine, but Matt cocks his gun anyway.  
   
Kurt yells “ _No!_ ” and shoves him so the shot goes wild, ricocheting off the wall and making Blaine flinch violently. Harriet’s hands seize him from behind and pin his arms against his back as Matt recovers his balance, glaring at Kurt.  
   
“You can’t shoot him!” Kurt whimpers when Harriet jerks his arms higher. Matt rolls his eyes and cocks the gun again. “There are casualties in every job, Kurt.”  
   
“Blaine isn’t even a _part_ of this job!”  
   
“You got him into this,” he says coldly, and Kurt wrenches his arms free and punches him in the face.  
   
Matt hits the ground and stumbles back to his feet, snarling “You little _shit_ , the fuck do you think you’re doing –“  
   
Chuckling echoes around the tunnel and they both freeze. The shifter throws his back and laughs, pulling Blaine off his feet so he flails for a purchase.  
   
“Oh, you’re funny, both of you. There _are_ casualties, aren’t there, Matt? You’d know.”  
   
“Shut up,” Matt picks up his gun and aims it again, but his hands are unsteady, “Or I swear to god I will put a bullet through your forehead.”  
   
“What was her name? Frankie? And you begged so hard for her to come with you...” the shifter shakes its head sadly, “Such a pretty girl, too.”  
   
“Shut the fuck up.”  
   
“Matt,” Cam says, inching forwards, “Matt, put the gun down.”  
   
“Still, she screamed so nicely for me,” it shrugs, “It was worth it. Especially for the look on your face, oh my _god_.”  
   
“She was just a kid,” Matt says softly, “You didn’t have to kill her.”  
   
“ _Excuse_ me? We _kill_ people. That’s what we _do._ ”  
   
“You don’t tease them,” Harriet says, “And you sure as hell don’t torture them.”  
   
“Who’s to say I’m the same as the others?” the shifter walks Blaine a little closer, and his face is red with lack of oxygen, “Who’s to say I don’t like to have a little fun?”  
   
“Just put him down,” Cam says, “Please? He’s just a kid. He’s got nothing to do with any of this.”  
   
“Oh yeah? He came waltzing into my sewers when I called him, and that makes it his business.”  
   
“Please,” Kurt begs, “Please, it’s my fault, he just wanted to help, just let him be!”  
   
Blaine’s face is borderline purple now, and he’s making soft choked off noises, his toes barely brushing the floor. Kurt lunges forwards, desperate to help, to do _something_ , god if Blaine dies he’ll never forgive himself, _never_. He needs Blaine.  
   
“Blaine,” he says, “Blaine, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” and his throat is closing up and he swallows as all six of them stand there, watching each other, waiting for one to make a move. Matt’s statue-still beside him and Cam has a restraining hand on his arm and Harriet is just observing quietly, they have to do _something¸_ they can’t just let him _die_. But nobody will move, not until something big happens, and Kurt knows that’s going to be Blaine’s body going lifeless and weak in the shifter’s arms, and he just can’t let that happen but he doesn’t know what to _do_.   
   
And then Blaine’s foot jerks back and up and the shifter’s face contorts in pain. Blaine twists and then he’s on the floor and the sound of gunfire tears up the tunnel.  
   
The shifter sways, topples backwards with a grunt of pain, blood spreading in a pool around it. Kurt stumbles forwards, flicks off the safety on automatic. He walks right past Blaine and stands over the shifter. It stares dully at him with Blaine’s eyes, filled with an animalistic pain. Kurt raises the gun with shaking hands.  
   
 _Do it. It’s not him. It’s not Blaine. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t_. He casts a glance towards the real Blaine, slumped against the wall with his fingers against his throat.  
   
He pulls the trigger.  
   
The shifter jerks once and then Blaine’s features melt away into a shapeless mass, the waxy mess oozing over Kurt’s boots. He steps back, grimacing, and then Blaine says softly “Kurt?”  
   
He drops the gun, whirls to kneel in front of Blaine. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”  
   
“Know how I said I thought shapeshifters were fun?” he croaks, “I take it back. You were right, they’re not fun at all.”   
   
Kurt grabs his hands and holds them tight. “Blaine, god, I’m so sorry, I – I’m so sorry, I should never have –“  
   
“It’s okay,” Blaine rasps, and he gets his arms around Kurt’s shoulder and draws him in tight against his chest, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  
   
“I’m sorry,” he gasps against Blaine’s shoulder, and Blaine strokes his hair and mumbles “It’s okay, it’s okay.”  
   
Kurt collects himself as quickly as he can, pushes himself back and helps Blaine to his feet. Cam is crouched over the shifter’s corpse, examining it carefully. Harriet is standing over them, looking tired. “You two okay?”  
   
“You lied,” Kurt says, “You said you were just visiting but you weren’t. You’ve been following it.”  
   
“Since DC,” she says. Cam calls “It’s dead.”  
   
Blaine says, “Kurt, my ankle, can you –“ and grabs his shoulder for support. Kurt barely registers it. “You knew where it was, why didn’t you kill it?”  
   
“We had to know,” she sighs, “That it was the right one.”  
   
“The right one? And what if it wasn’t? Were you just going to let it kill people?”  
   
“You don’t get it,” Matt snarls, “You don’t get what it’s _like_ to lose someone important to you.”  
   
“Oh really?” Kurt curls his hands into fists, he is _furious_ now, “I’ve lost my mother, and then three years later I lost the closest thing I’d had to one for a while. I’ve seen my father in coma because of a failing heart and just now I saw Blaine in a chokehold because you are too fucking _stupid_ to kill something evil just because you don’t know if it murdered your girl. You know, I figured that hunters did things just to rid the world of a bit more evil, not for petty revenge schemes.”  
   
Blaine whispers “Kurt, can we just go home? Please?”  
   
Kurt slips his arm around Blaine’s waist to hold him upright and turns his back on them, still fuming.  
   
“You’re a hypocrite, Kurt,” Matt calls after him, “Petty revenge? Think about what you’ve been doing with the past ten years of your life.”  
   
The fury is delicate now, too easily shattered into hysteria. Kurt keeps walking.  
 


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural/Glee crossover. Between transferring to McKinley, joining Glee Club, and attempting (and failing, somewhat) to befriend the enigmatic, slightly abrasive, thoroughly attractive Kurt Hummel, Blaine really should have expected his life to get even more difficult than it already was. Learning exactly - and intimately - what goes bump in the night was exactly the kind of absurd thing his life would throw at him.

Blaine’s hands won’t stop shaking.  
   
He’s sat on them, he’s curled them tight together and wedged them between his thighs, but it doesn’t help. Kurt is driving, his fingers so tight on the wheel that his knuckles strain white against his skin.  
   
“Kurt –“ he tries, but Kurt just shakes his head. “Not now. Please.”  
   
“But –“  
   
“Blaine, _please_.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
His throat hurts. He still can’t draw a full breath through it without it burning and rasping painfully. His mind keeps replaying Kurt standing over the body, _his_ body, and firing that last shot.  
   
When they pull up to Blaine’s house it’s the same as he left it, the front door left open a crack. His ankle buckles as he gets out of the car but Kurt’s already pushing open the door. Mouse comes shooting out and knocks him down onto the floor, licking sloppily all over his face.  
   
“Ugh, Mouse, stop,” Blaine mumbles, pushing weakly at his chest, “No, don’t. Stop it.”  
   
Kurt’s footsteps crunch back over the gravel and he shoos Mouse out of the way, hauling Blaine upright. “Get your act together, idiot,” he says, but the jibe holds none of its usual friendly bite.  
   
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and tries not to put too much weight on Kurt’s shoulder as they hobble towards the door.  
   
Mouse follows them upstairs, his nails clicking loudly against the wooden boards until they reach the bathroom and he backs off, whining and settling to the floor just outside it. Kurt shoves Blaine down on the seat of the toilet and starts opening cupboard doors.  
   
“The first-aid is under the sink,” Blaine croaks, and Kurt nods in his direction and pulls out the green box, cracking it open and dumping various things in the sink. He crumples something into his hand and drops to his knees, easing Blaine’s boot off his foot and tossing it over his shoulder. Blaine winces at the ugly scuff mark it leaves on the wall. Kurt tugs the sock off too and then rolls up his jeans, propping Blaine’s foot up on his knee.  
   
“What are you doing?” he asks, and Kurt holds up the rumpled ACE bandage. “It’s probably just a strain, but this should help before I grab you some painkillers.”  
   
“Thanks,” Blaine rubs at his throat and grimaces at the ache. Kurt stands and Blaine’s foot thumps to the floor, making him wince. “Oh, shit – crap, I’m sorry, I – do you want some water? I can get you some water, and something to eat as well, sorry, I should have asked –“  
   
“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine says, and pushes himself up onto his feet, “Okay, just, wait, just. We both stink of sewer, me even more so, and before you do anything I think we both need to shower.”  
   
Kurt sighs heavily. “Okay. Do you need a hand getting in?”  
   
“I’ll be fine,” Blaine smiles, “You can use the guest bathroom, it’s just down the hall.”  
   
“Are you –“  
   
“I’m sure. Kurt, go on, I’m fine.”  
   
Blaine shoos both Kurt and Mouse out of the doorway and shuts it firmly behind them, leaving it unlocked in case that he passes out in the shower and has to be rescued.  
   
He finds the bottle of pine shower gel that he bought after their last sewer excursion and scrubs until he can’t smell the sewer anymore. Then he just stands in the shower and breathes in the steam until the urge to break down into tears goes away again.  
   
Kurt must have been in at some point because there’s a pile of clean, folded clothes on the floor and his discarded ones have been taken away. He does some pretty impressive balancing and manages to get into the sweatpants without giving himself another concussion, and he’s pretty sure the shirt he’s wearing is about three sizes too big but he can’t bring himself to care.  
   
When he opens the door Kurt is hovering there, looking nervous. “I borrowed some of your clothes, I hope that’s okay?”  
   
Blaine nods, smiling half-heartedly as he hobbles past into his bedroom, holding onto the dresser and armchair for support. Kurt is already kneeling by the time he sits down, pushing the leg of his pants up in order to get at Blaine’s ankle.  
   
“It’s swelling,” he says helpfully, “But it’s not too bad, and the bruising isn’t horrible either. If you wrap it up it should be fine in a couple days. I’ll get you some painkillers, and –“  
   
“Kurt,” Blaine reaches out and smoothes his hair off his forehead, “Kurt, stop.”  
   
“You need painkillers,” Kurt ignores Blaine, shaking his head and reaching for the ACE bandage, “And I’ll wrap up your ankle, and then you should probably get some sleep, I’ll make sure –“  
   
Blaine grabs Kurt’s hands and presses them against his knees, staring into his eyes. “Kurt. Stop.”  
   
Kurt deflates, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”  
   
“It’s okay,” Blaine tugs his hands until he sits next to him, “It’s fine, I promise. I just want to know what’s wrong.”  
   
Kurt takes a shaky breath. “I just. I hate those things, I hate them _so_ much.”  
   
“Can I ask why?” Blaine asks tentatively and Kurt sighs. “They scare me. They – Blaine, if you hadn’t called first, it would have called me down to the sewers and killed me, and it would have taken your place and – just like Lily.”  
   
“Lily?”  
   
“She travelled with us for a little while,” Kurt says, “and she – she was killed by a shifter. I found her body, it left it under her car. It’d been with us for _days_ and I hadn’t noticed a thing.”  
   
“Kurt,” Blaine doesn’t know what to say, “You couldn’t have known.”  
   
“But it wasn’t just that,” Kurt sniffs, “It was afterwards, _god_. I was so _lonely_. She was the only one who _ever_ let me feel like I was actually normal for once, like I wasn’t some kind of girly freak, and after she... after she was fone I didn’t have anyone to talk to about liking to sing or draw without being told it was _gay_ or _faggy_ or that I should be less _girly._ And. And I couldn’t let it happen to you because – because you make me feel like that too. Like I’m normal. And so I can’t lose you, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”  
   
Blaine’s heart is somewhere in his throat and tears are stinging his eyes. “You won’t,” he says thickly, “I promise you, you won’t lose me.”  
   
Kurt throws his arms around Blaine’s neck and Blaine hugs him back, as tight as he can, and Kurt buries his face in Blaine’s neck and his breath hitches softly. Blaine closes his eyes against his threatening tears and whispers “You won’t lose me, Kurt, I promise you.”  
   
They cling to each other for nearly half an hour, finding comfort in each other’s presence, before Kurt inches away and wipes his eyes with a watery smile. “Shall I wrap your leg now?”  
   
“That would be fantastic,” Blaine chuckles, surreptitiously dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief as Kurt props his heel on his knee and starts slowly wrapping the bandage around his bruising ankle.   
   
Once Blaine’s taken his painkillers they boot up his laptop and call Mouse up to join them to watch Singing in the Rain, quietly trying to forget the exhausting events of the evening. Neither of them say anything, but the sight of the dog lying quietly beside Blaine’s bed makes them both feel just that tiny bit safer. Blaine can’t quite help but sit up a little every time the house creaks, but Kurt’s hand in his is enough to persuade him to let the stress drain out of his body. Eventually, the movie draws to an end and Kurt turns to him, says softly as the credits play “You okay?”  
   
The light from the laptop casts an eerie glow over his face, making him look ethereal and almost otherworldly.  
   
“I’m crazy about you,” Blaine breathes, and Kurt’s eyes widen the tiniest amount before he slides off the bed and snaps the laptop shut.  
   
“Shit,” Blaine says, replaying his idiotic confession in his mind, “Oh god, Kurt, I’m sorry, I didn’t – it wasn’t supposed to come out like that, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Wait, no – no, I did mean it, I just didn’t mean to say it, but –“  
   
“Blaine,” Kurt says tightly, “It doesn’t matter, okay? It’s fine. I’m fine. Just let it go.”  
   
Blaine slumps back against the headboard, his throat aching. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and Kurt shrugs, placing the laptop on his desk. “I should probably head home. My dad will be worrying.”

“But Kurt, your dad’s –“  
   
“See you soon, Anderson.”  
   
“ – on his honeymoon,” Blaine finishes lamely as Kurt shuts his bedroom door behind him. He sighs heavily, wincing at the rasp of his throat and as he face-plants into the pillow beside him, instantly regretting it as the scent of leather and cologne washes over him.  
   
Mouse whines and a few seconds later a wet nose pushes against the back of his neck. Blaine ruffles his ears blindly and hopes the alarm is set, because he doesn’t think he can face going downstairs right now.  
   
**  
   
His friendship with Kurt in the weeks after Blaine’s convoluted confession is strained, to say the very least. Blaine tries to rein in all urges he gets to touch Kurt, or make eye contact with him, or say anything that he thinks is funny but is probably stupid by Kurt’s standards. They sit next to each other at the newly minted New Directions Weekly Bowling Excursion once and Blaine holds himself straight and unmoving so he doesn’t accidentally brush up against Kurt’s arm or his shoulder. Kurt slumps back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him so Rachel trips whenever she skips back from her turn.  
   
“So,” Blaine ventures, “How’s life?”  
   
“Fine,” Kurt says, “You?”  
   
“I’m good,” Blaine nods slowly.   
   
Kurt doesn’t reply and they spend the rest of the evening sitting in awkward silence.  
   
 So when Blaine gets the group email from Finn _(sams leaving bbq @ my house this Saturday bring food nd ur games!!!!!!)_ the first thing he thinks is _I get to see Kurt!_ , quickly followed by _oh god, I have to see Kurt, oh **god**_.  
   
“Cooper!” he yells from the couch, and Cooper shouts “What?” from the kitchen.  
   
“Accompany me to a barbecue in a couple days?”  
   
“Sorry, bro, I’m going back home tomorrow,” he comes to stand in the doorway, drying his hands with a dishtowel, “Why?”  
   
“No reason,” he sighs, “No reason at all.”  
   
The barbecue creeps up on him too fast and soon Blaine’s calling his goodbyes to a house that won’t reply. Sighing, he clips Mouse’s lead on and leads him to the beat-up old car his father had loaned him for the time being, letting him have the backseat to himself.  
   
He sits for five minutes outside Kurt’s house, tapping at the wheel, until someone raps on his window.  
   
“Dude, you gonna come in, or...?”  
   
Mike waits as Blaine climbs out of the car and shoulders his bag of food, patting his thigh to encourage Mouse along.  
   
“You okay?” Mike nudges him, “You look glum.”  
   
“I’m fine,” Blaine nods, “Great, even. Fantastic.”  
   
“Oh really?” Mike hip-checks him out of the way as he tries to reach the bolt at the top of the back gate, “You look terrible.”  
   
“I’m tired,” Blaine yawns unconvincingly, “Long night.”  
   
“Right,” Mike slides back the deadbolt and opens the gate, “Sure you did.”  
   
Blaine unclips Mouse’s lead and shoots Mike a glare, stalking past him into the backyard. Most of the New Directions are already there, lounging on chairs or on the grass. Finn is working over the barbecue, the scent of grilled vegetables wafting over.  
   
“Blaine!” Rachel calls, rushing over, “I brought my karaoke machine, you _have_ to accompany me later, I have the perfect song –“  
   
“Rachel,” Sam says, “Give the guy some space.”  
   
She backs off and Blaine smiles at Sam, who promptly body-slams him with a hug. “Gonna miss you, man,” he says, and Blaine worms his arms out of his grip to hug back.   
   
“I’ll miss you too, Sam. But Facebook, right?”  
   
“ _Duh_ ,” Sam squeezes him so hard Blaine thinks some of his ribs might have cracked, “Like I’ll miss out on that.”  
   
He lets Blaine drop to the floor and moves on to Mike, ruffling his hair furiously. Blaine sighs and moves forwards to dump his bag of junk food by the barbecue, waving to Finn as he goes. Turning to find Mouse, he comes face to face with Kurt.  
   
“Oh,” he swallows, “Hey, Kurt.”  
   
Kurt smiles. “Hey. How you doing?”  
   
“I’m, uh, I’m fine,” he forces a grin, “Uh, I just, I gotta, um, use the bathroom! Yeah. So. Sorry, uh, yeah.”  
   
He disappears into the house, fighting down the urge to turn around and throw himself into Kurt’s arms or something equally idiotic. Instead, he hightails it into the house and drains a glass of water, pinches his arm and forces himself to leave the house.  
   
Kurt is standing with Finn, now, snarking about the barbecue, and Blaine has almost slipped past when Finn says “Hey, bro, do me a favour?”  
   
“Oh, sure,” Blaine tries to keep walking and talk to Finn too, “What is it?”  
   
“The shed at the bottom of the garden, I think the rest of the coal’s there. Mind grabbing it for me?”  
   
“Oh, sure,” Blaine nods towards the shed, “Be right back.”  
   
The shed is rickety and old, and when Blaine opens the door he finds a small china tea set, knocked on its side by a large bag of coal. Groaning, Blaine inches forwards, ducking under the cobwebs, and grabs the bag, shuddering at the size of the spider webs criss-crossing the table.   
   
As he turns something large and dark moves in the corner of his eye. He glances sideways and _screams_ at the size of the spider dangling beside his face, stumbling back and tripping over the tea set. With a crunch, he feels one of the delicate mugs break under his feet.   
   
“Shoot,” he hisses, trying to gather up the pieces while simultaneously keeping an eye on the leisurely spinning spider and making sure he doesn’t slice his hands open.  
   
“Hey, you okay?”  
   
Blaine jumps and then sighs. “God, you scared me.”  
   
“Sorry,” Kurt grimaces at the spider and grabs a book from a filing cabinet, quickly squashing it between the pages, “Oh no, what happened?”  
   
“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, tipping the shards into another cup, “I didn’t mean to break it, I tripped.”  
   
“It’s fine,” Kurt smiles, shrugging, “I forgot I even had this old thing anymore.”  
   
“It’s yours?”  
   
“It was,” Kurt sighs and rights the table the set had been sitting on, carefully replacing the tea set.  
   
Blaine brushes off the teapot and sets it in the middle, catching Kurt’s eye for a moment before he looks away hastily and clears his throat. “Um, Kurt, I just wanted to apologise about what I said the other day. I know it made you uncomfortable, and I should have been more considerate. I’m really sorry.”  
   
Kurt shakes his head. “No, don’t apologise. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have. C’mon, let’s get out of this gross shed.”  
   
He grabs the bag of coal and hauls it out, shifting away to let Blaine close the door behind him. Putting the bag back down on the floor, he shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs.   
   
“Blaine.”  
   
“Yes?” Blaine pauses, and Kurt bites his lip.   
   
“Um, I have a question for you?”  
   
“Sure, fire away,” Blaine brushes the cobwebs off the bag, “Anything you want.”  
   
“Okay,” Kurt takes a deep breath, “Would you go on a date with me?”  
   
“Wh-what?”  
   
“Um,” Kurt blushes a pretty shade of pink, “Would you, uh, would you go on a date? With me?”  
   
Blaine’s mouth drops open. “You want to go on a date? With _me?_ ”  
   
“Well, obviously,” Kurt’s cheeks go even darker, “I said I wanted to date you.”  
   
“ _Date_ me? Not just go on a date?”  
   
“ _God,_ Blaine! Do you want dinner and a movie or not?”

“I – _yes!_ ” Blaine grins, “Yes, yes, _yes_ , please, I do, I do very much,”  
   
Kurt scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Really?”  
   
“Of course I do!” Blaine has to dig his fingers into his palms to stop himself from flying at Kurt, “If you – I mean, I thought I was _way_ out of your league, but – yes. Yes, I would like to date you. Very much.”  
   
Kurt runs a hand through his hair. “Me, out of your league? Are you crazy?”  
   
Blaine nearly says ‘crazy for you’ but thinks that might be a little over the top.  
   
“So,” Kurt says awkwardly, “Um, this Tuesday? I’ll pick you up at five?”  
   
“Tuesday,” Blaine grins and nods, “Can’t wait.”  
   
Kurt tries to hold back his smile but can’t, his face splitting into a huge grin. “Okay. Tuesday.”  
   
Blaine glances at the coal. “We should probably get that to Finn.”  
   
“Oh, yeah,” Kurt grabs the coal, “You coming?”  
   
Blaine nudges their shoulders together. “Of course I am.”  
   
They’re almost inseparable for the rest of the evening, and Blaine’s pretty sure Santana has clocked what’s going on but he can’t quite bring himself to care. At the end of the night Blaine stands on the porch with Mouse at his side and says “I’ll see you on Tuesday?”  
   
“Yes, you will,” Kurt grins and then bobs forwards and kisses him on the cheek, “Text me when you get home, okay?”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine’s voice comes out as a sort of squeak, “Yes. I will.”  
   
“Sleep well, Blaine,” Kurt smiles and shuts the door.  
   
Blaine can’t quite help doing a victory dance as he walks towards his car.  
   
**  
   
 ** _14 th June, 2011_**  
  
Blaine’s phone jolts him out of sleep, the shrill tone making him clap his hands over his ears and groan.  
   
“ _What?_ ” he grumbles, and an cheerful voice says “ _Hi, is this Blaine?_ ”  
   
“Hi, Chelsea,” Blaine rolls his eyes, “Any reason you’re calling at this ungodly hour?”  
   
“ _Blaine, it’s eleven o’ clock in the morning._ ”  
   
“Oh, right,” Blaine vaguely remembers staying up until three, trying to find an outfit for his date.  
   
His _date_. Because he has an actual, honest-to-god _date_ with _Kurt freaking Hummel_ in six hours.  
   
“ _Believe me, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important, but there’s something wrong with Archie and you need to come down_.”  
   
Blaine sits up hurriedly. “What? What’s wrong?”  
   
“ _I don’t know, but he won’t eat his breakfast and he keeps trying to lie down. It might be colic, but I’m just going to call the vet an ask._ ”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine kicks off his covers and tumbles out of bed, “I’m on my way, be there as soon as possible.”  
   
He stumbles across the floor blearily, shoves his glasses onto his face and struggles into his clothes from the day before, grabbing the cinnamon toast left in the kitchen and resolving to text Cooper his apologies at stealing both his breakfast and his car as soon as he gets a free moment.  
   
He makes it to the stables in half an hour and parks as neatly as he can beside the truck that never seems to move from its space. Shrugging on his sweatshirt as he goes, Blaine trots through the barn and comes to a halt in front of Archie’s stall.  
   
“Hi Chelsea, I came as fast as I could,” he peers over the top of the stable door, “Is he okay?”  
   
“I’ve called the vet, he does think it’s colic but he can’t tell us which type until he gets here,” his riding teacher sighs heavily, “He’s not well.”  
   
“What can I do?” Blaine asks, opening the door and slipping inside, running his hand over Archie’s nose, and Chelsea straightens, sighing. “The vet says just walk him up and down until he gets here, and then he’ll work out what’s wrong.”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine unknots Archie’s lead rope and knocks the stable door open with his hip, “C’mon, boy, let’s go.”  
   
Archie follows him, head hanging low. Blaine scratches through his forelock nervously, checking his watch. It’s only quarter to twelve.  
   
“Chelsea,” he calls, “When did the vet say he’d get here?”  
   
She doesn’t answer, and Blaine sighs and starts to lead Archie up and down the stretch of dirt in front of the school.  
   
Hours later, the vet still isn’t there and Blaine’s legs are weary. Archie keeps trying to lie down and Blaine’s arms are _aching_ from tugging him up again and again.  
   
On what must be their forty-somethingth circuit of the yard Blaine trips and nearly loses his balance, and Archie takes the opportunity to lower himself to the floor.  
   
“ _No_ , Archie,” Blaine tugs at the lead rope, but 135 pounds of boy against 1100 pounds of horse doesn’t shift him at all. Reluctantly, Archie tosses his head against the insistent tugging and clambers back to his feet, sighing heavily and clopping after him. Blaine hopes the vet is going to get there soon, or his arms might fall off.  
   
It’s another hour before the vet draws up in his van, waving and calling out apologies. Blaine sighs in relief, slowing his pacing.  
   
“Hi, Blaine,” Dr. Weatherby says, “So, I’m guessing Archie has the problem here?”  
   
“Yes,” Blaine says, “Yes, he’s – , I don’t know what’s wrong. Chelsea said you think it’s colic.”  
   
“Alright, pass him over,” Blaine hands over the lead rope and then stumbles a little, his legs shaking.  
   
“You look exhausted,” Dr. Weatherby clucks, “Go and sit down, I’ll talk to Chelsea instead.”  
   
“But sir –“  
   
“You’re of no use to Archie swaying on your feet,” the vet shoos Blaine away, “Go sit down for a minute, I’ll deal with this.”  
   
Blaine drags himself to the break room and slumps down on one of the seats, sighing. His legs feel like they’re going to fall off and his feet are aching from walking all day. When he checks the clock it’s nearly quarter past five and he yawns, letting his head clunk against the table. After a moment he groans sitting up and trying to work out the soreness in his shoulders and legs, but before he can Chelsea yells for him and he jumps to his feet.  
   
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Blaine asks, taking Archie’s lead rope and patting his nose gently, “Fixable?”  
   
Dr Weatherby smiles. “It’s tympanic colic, painful but treatable. I’ll have to pop back home to grab some mineral oil and a nasal gastric tube, but –“  
   
“Wait, what?” Blaine holds up a hand, “A nasal what? What are you doing?”  
   
“It’s a very simple procedure,” the vet says, “Tympanic colic is just a buildup of gas in the digestive system. I’ve already given Archie some painkillers, but the mineral oil will just help speed up the treatment.”  
   
“I’ve seen it done, it’s completely safe,” Chelsea pats Blaine’s arm, “Why don’t you keep him walking and I’ll just talk with Dr. Weatherby.”  
   
“Okay,” Blaine says reluctantly, but tugs at Archie’s lead rope and starts leading him back up and down the stretch of dirt. After his short rest, his legs feel even worse and he silently hopes that whatever Dr Weatherby wants to do, it will happen quickly. He feels like keeling over and falling asleep, but Archie is still sick, and he needs Blaine.   
   
“Not an option, Anderson,” he says sternly to himself, and keeps on walking.  
   
By the time Dr Weatherby has gone home, come back, carried out the mineral oil pump – undoubtedly one of the most traumatic things Blaine has ever experienced, and he wasn’t the one having oil put in his stomach through his nose – and has explained the next steps they need to take and what to do if it gets worse, it’s been nearly two more hours and Blaine is dead on his feet. He insists on waiting a little while longer to get Archie settled and comfortable, before Chelsea tells him he looks like a mess and forces him to go home.  
   
Blaine drives on autopilot, stops at a corner shop to buy a bottle of coke to give him enough energy to make it down the home stretch. He parks the car as well as he can, pulls his phone out of his pocket to find that it’s dead and covered in straw. Sighing, he trudges down the driveway and pushes open the door to the house.  
   
Blaine flops down at the kitchen table and groans, his whole body aching as he reaches out and plugs in his phone, sighing in relief as the charging sign lights up the screen. He grabs one of the glasses in the middle of the table and drains the water, moaning as it soothes his parched throat.  
   
“Blaine.”  
   
“Hey Coop,” he says tiredly, “Not right now, I’m kind of tired.”  
   
Cooper puts his phone on the table. “I think you should listen to your messages.”  
   
“What? Coop, I’m exhausted, can I just sit for a moment?”  
   
“Blaine, just do it. Seriously.”  
   
“Fine, geez,” Blaine unlocks his phone and dials his voicemail tiredly.  
   
 _You have. Five new messages._  
   
“What?  
   
 _Message one. Today, five-fifteen PM._  
  
 _“Hey, Blaine, it’s Kurt. Um, I don’t know if you forgot or something, but we had an arrangement for this evening, and I just wanted to remind you, ‘cause I’m kind of. At your house. Yeah, so, call me back when you get this message! Thanks.”_  
  
Blaine feels the blood drain from his face. “Oh shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit, fuck.”  
   
“Yep,” Cooper says, examining his nails, “But keep listening, they get better.”  
   
 _Message two. Today, five twenty-three PM._  
  
 _“Um, hi there Blaine. It’s Kurt again, sorry, I was just wondering if you got my last message. I don’t mean to be clingy, but you know, the movie tickets are for five forty-five and I promised to buy snacks, so I want to get there on time. Text me if you want to meet there? Okay, bye.”_  
  
Blaine bites his thumbnail. “I’m an idiot. I’m a massive, stupid, dumb idiot.”  
   
 _Message three. Today, five thirty-two PM._  
  
 _“It’s Kurt, sorry. I just, um, I’m starting to get worried? Are you okay? Could you call me when you get this, or call Cooper or – or anyone if you don’t want to call me, just tell me you’re okay? Please?”_  
  
 _Message four. Today, five forty-seven PM._  
  
 _“Hey, Blaine, I guess you’re not that bothered about the movie [nervous laughter], but I figured if you still wanted to grab a bite to eat – um, I mean, if you wanted dinner I’d be paying and I could pick you up, if you want? I seriously don’t mind if you’re a little bit late. I mean, uh, it would be really fan – it would be great if you could make it. Okay, uh, see you then?”_  
  
“Cooper, I –“  
   
“No, you should really listen to the last one, it’s the best,” Cooper says sharply, eyes cold, “Seriously. Some real entertainment, right there.”  
   
 _Message five. Today, six twenty-nine PM._  
  
 _“I, um, I guess you don’t want dinner either. I’m really sorry if I annoyed you or something, I just...I really thought you wanted to go out with me?”_ Kurt’s voice is wobbly and thin and Blaine feels sick, _“I don’t know, I just – you said you were, um, crazy about me or, you know, that, so I just thought it was mutual, but –“_ his breath hitches audibly and Blaine feels like slamming his head against the table “ _You really didn’t have to stand me up, okay? You could have said no, I would have understood, I mean, you’re way out of my league anyway. But I thought you were kinder than – I don’t know, making me wait here for an hour and a half with your brother holding a bouquet of flowers like a complete idiot. So –“_ Blaine can hear the catch and release of his breath and realises that Kurt’s _crying_ , Blaine _made him cry_ and dear god, Blaine feels like the biggest asshole on _Earth_. “ _So thanks, I’ve learned my lesson, I’ll leave you be next time. Sorry for bothering you. Um, b-bye.”_  
  
“He bought you the biggest goddamn bunch of flowers I have ever seen in my entire life,” Cooper says, “And he was dressed for a fucking evening at the opera, not dinner and a movie. So why the fuck did you stand him up, asshole?”  
   
Blaine lets his head fall into his hands. “God, I just – I lost track of time, with Archie being sick, and –“  
   
“Well, okay, I understand about Archie, but Blaine. That was a massive mistake. He was _crying_ when he left. He threw the freaking flowers in the trash and he went home in _tears_ , you absolute _dick_. I swear to god, I have pulled some pretty low moves, but that kid was so excited when he got here I wanted to pinch his cheeks and wrap him up in a blanket but –“ Cooper makes a frustrated shrieking noise and waves his arms, then points at Blaine. “Fix this. Right now. Or you sleep in the stables.”

“Cooper, I’m a mess –“  
   
“Nope. Go. Fix it. Or stables.”  
   
Blaine pushes himself to his feet, “Coop –“

“ _Go!_ ”  
   
Blaine just has enough time to grab his phone and wallet before Cooper shoves him out of the door.  
   
Standing on the doorstep, he looks down at his outfit. Ragged jodhpurs, a stained Joules polo, a worn sweatshirt and scuffed jodhpur boots. His hair is unstyled and he smells like horse and mineral oil.  
   
“I need to find a flower shop,” he says to himself.  
   
The closest one is a twenty minute walk, but Blaine discovers that that’s equal to a eight minute sprint. He does a quick google search and asks for a bouquet of purple hyacinths. The ones he receives are slightly sad-looking but he takes them anyway and sets off towards Kurt’s house as fast as he can run on legs that feel like they’re made of jelly.  
   
The door, when he conjures up the courage to ring it, is opened by Burt.  
   
“Blaine,” he says curtly, nodding. Blaine, leaning against the doorway and panting for breath, says “Good afternoon, sir.”  
   
“You know what, I’d say it’s evening,” Burt says calmly, “Any reason you’re around?”  
   
“Is Kurt here?” Blaine asks hopefully, and Burt purses his lips. “Wanna tell me why I should let you in?”  
   
Blaine thrusts the bouquet out in front of him. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to stand him up and I really need to see him. _Please,_ sir.”  
   
Burt stands aside reluctantly and Blaine wobbles past him on unsteady legs, slips on the tiles as he walks through the kitchen and stops at the top of the basement stairs.  
   
“Okay,” he breathes, and opens the door.  
   
“Dad, I’m not hungry,” a voice calls as soon as his foot hits the creaky top step and Blaine’s heart both skips a beat and _hurts_ at the rough crack of Kurt’s voice. He pads down the stairs, holding the considerably more worse for wear flowers behind his back.  
   
Kurt is curled up under the covers, his back to the door. Blaine clears his throat quietly and says “Kurt?”  
   
Kurt shoots up so quickly it might have been funny in different circumstances. His hair is messy, falling out of its styling, and his face is blotchy and pink from crying. He’s wearing a rumpled button-up with a bow-tie and he looks _amazing_.  
                                                
“Hi,” Blaine says stupidly.  
   
“What do you want?” Kurt asks, “Because I got it, okay? I got you don’t want to date me. It was clear.”  
   
“No, no, no, Kurt, that wasn’t – my horse, okay, he got colic, and I forgot because – I thought he was dying, and I – I got back late but I didn’t mean to stand you up, I just –“ he sticks out the flowers and then actually looks at how wilted and gross they are. “Oh, god, never mind, I – these were to apologise but they’re hideous, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Kurt’s mouth fall open. “You – you bought me flowers?”  
   
“I don’t know if these count as flowers,” Blaine says lamely, “Um, I can go buy more –“  
   
“Shut up,” Kurt says, “You asshole.”  
   
Blaine shuts his mouth, and then opens it to say “I’m really sorry –“  
   
“Shut up!”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
Blaine realises he’s shaking and sits down, his legs folding uncooperatively underneath him. Kurt watches him, his fingers curled tightly together on his lap.  
   
“I thought you liked me.”  
   
“I do. I do, Kurt, I like you so much, I wasn’t lying when I said I’m crazy about you, I _am_. You are – amazing, seriously, I just – you’re amazing,” he sighs and stares at his hands.  
   
Kurt is quiet for a little longer. Blaine licks his lips and then says timidly “Can I have another chance?”  
   
“Wh-what?”  
   
“Can I make it up to you? The fair is in town, we could, um, we could go. If you wanted to. If you would let me.”  
   
“You want to? Go on a date with me?”  
   
Blaine laughs. “Kurt, I’ve wanted to go on a date with you since we became friends, since you first _talked_ to me, I’m just. You know. An idiot. And I promise I will spend the rest of the summer making this up to you.”  
   
Kurt’s legs swing off the bed and he moves to kneel in front of Blaine, hesitantly sliding their hands together. Blaine squeezes tight and smiles hopefully.  
   
Kurt takes a deep breath.  
   
“Pick me up at seven tomorrow?”  
   
Blaine lets out an ecstatic whoop and throws his arms around Kurt, accidentally knocking them both back onto the floor. Slowly, Kurt’s arms come around his waist and he tucks Blaine tight against his body, burying his face in his neck.  
   
“Thank you,” Blaine says, his chest tight with joy, “Thank you, I promise you I will make it the best day ever.”  
   
“You better,” Kurt says, and pinches his ribs.  
   
He holds Blaine in his arms for another moment and then lets go, sitting back. “So, is your horse okay?”  
   
Blaine rubs his hand over his face. “He’s fine, it wasn’t fatal. I really am sorry, I just – I’ve had Archie for seven years, and he’s getting old, and I don’t know. I worry about him, sometimes.”  
   
“He’s a horse, Blaine.”   
   
Kurt bites his lip like he’s said something wrong. Blaine snorts. “No, I know. But he’s _my_ horse, and I’m stupidly emotionally attached to him.”  
   
“Well, I’m glad he’s better,” Kurt says, and squeezes Blaine’s hand. He sounds _genuine_ , and Blaine’s heart catches and swells with too much emotion.  
   
When he gets home Blaine checks in the trash and finds a huge bouquet of chrysanthemums, carnations and roses, still in their plastic wrapping and resting on a layer of newspaper. He doesn’t even think about taking them inside and placing them in his mother’s crystal vase, giving them a prime spot on his windowsill.  
   
**  
   
At six fifty the next day, Blaine stands on the Hummel’s doorstep holding a bunch of peach roses and wiping his hands repetitively on his pants. He went with the red chinos and black polo to stand out, but had only realised halfway to Kurt’s house that the pants were actually way too short and exposed his ankles, which means he now finds himself at Kurt’s front door wearing a pair of pants that are too short and a shirt that’s slightly too tight.  
   
“You coming in, kid?”  
   
Blaine nearly falls off the step in surprise. “Mr Hummel!” he yelps, “Um, hi!”

“Those flowers for Kurt?” Burt asks, and Blaine tucks them behind his back hurriedly. “Uh, no. Nope, they’re –“  
   
“It’s okay, son, I know,” Burt turns and heads back into the house, “Come on in.”  
   
Blaine shuts the door behind him but keeps his shoes on because he hadn’t thought to bring socks. He has a cardigan in his bag, but it’s a hastily added item that doesn’t really match with anything he’s wearing.  
   
He wipes his feet on the mat and walks through nervously, holding the flowers behind his back. Burt is seated on the couch, flicking idly through the channels. Blaine clears his throat. “Can I help with anything, sir?”  
   
Burt looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You’re here to take Kurt out on a date, am I right?”  
   
“Well, yes –“  
   
“So sit and wait. He’ll be down in a second.”  
   
“ _Dad, who are you talking to –_ “  
   
Blaine turns and freezes as Kurt comes down the stairs tying a scarf around his neck, his boots clomping against the wood. He stumbles when he spots Blaine and puts out a hand to steady himself.  
   
“Wow,” Blaine says, staring out his outfit. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen Kurt wear before, a tight-fitting vest with a silvery scarf looped around his throat. His jeans are probably the tightest jeans Blaine’s ever seen and they’re tucked into his trademark DMs.  
   
“You look,” Blaine has to swallow hard, “You look amazing, Kurt.”  
   
Kurt blushes, and glances at his dad. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, Anderson.”  
   
“Um, I bought you these,” Blaine thrusts the flowers out in front of him, “They, um, I thought they were appropriate.”  
   
Kurt’s blush intensifies and he trots down the stairs to gather them from Blaine’s grasp, dipping forwards like he wants to kiss Blaine on the cheek but pulling back at the last second.  
   
“I’m just going to go put these in water,” he says, looking at his dad again and then slipping past into the kitchen.  
   
Blaine isn’t really aware that he has the biggest, most stupid smile on his face until Burt says calmly “So, I have a shotgun that I keep in the basement, and I just thought I should let you know that if you pull another stunt like yesterday I will not hesitate to get it out and chase you with it.”  
   
Blaine feels the blood drain from you face. “Mr Hummel, I am _so_ sorry about that. I know it was inexcusable behaviour and I plan to make it up to Kurt as soon as I can.”  
   
“Still,” Burt says, glaring, “Shotgun. Watch it.”  
   
He shoves off the doorframe and walks into the kitchen, and Blaine hears him say “I’ll take care of this, son. You go on your date.”  
   
And then Kurt is walking back through the door with a bag over his shoulder, smiling nervously. “All set?”  
   
“Yep,” Blaine grins and then realises it’s slightly manic and tones it down a little, “Let’s go.”

The drive to the fair is quiet, the radio playing softly to fill the silence. Kurt leans over to direct him into a shortcut a couple of times, and five minutes later Blaine reaches over and hopefully slides their hands together.  
   
“Okay?”  
   
Kurt turns and smiles. “Of course.”  
   
Now the silence has been broken questions keep crowding to the front of Blaine’s mind. “Um,” he says, “Your dad wasn’t surprised when I said that I was picking you up for a date.”  
   
“Oh,” Kurt squeezes his hand absentmindedly, “I told him, yesterday?”  
   
“You did?” Blaine grins, “Kurt, that’s great!”  
   
“Yeah,” Kurt smiles, “He took it really well, too. I was expecting a lot more _that’s not how I raised you_ , but he said that he knew.”  
   
“He knew?”  
   
“I think so. I was spending a lot of time with you. Plus, I started wearing scarves and tight jeans...”  
   
“I wear tight jeans!” Blaine says, affronted, and Kurt looks at him. “Blaine.”  
   
“Oh,” Blaine ducks his head, “Okay, yeah.”  
   
“I was going to text you, but then I thought I’d tell you during our date as well, but that didn’t work out,” Kurt trails off into a mumble and Blaine squeezes his hand tight.  
   
“I am so sorry –“  
   
“Oh, be quiet,” Kurt says, curling his legs up onto the seat, “It’s fine. Talking of my dad, you looked terrified when I came to get you.”  
   
“Oh, god,” Blaine laughs, “He threatened me with bodily harm if I stood you up again.”  
   
“He _what?_ ” Kurt groans, “I am actually going to murder him, _ugh_. He keeps treating me like a little kid, it’s so frustrating. It’s like, I’m _eighteen_ , Dad. I can take care of myself.”  
   
“I think it’s sweet,” Blaine says, “Once you get past the intense terror, he’s just looking after you.”  
   
“I guess,” Kurt sighs and then sits up, “Hey, turn left here. We’re almost there.”  
   
The ground is packed hard by hundreds of feet so Blaine’s open-topped shoes don’t sink into a quagmire like he’d worried. There’s a pair of boots in the trunk, but nothing detracts from an outfit better than a muddy, old, ugly pair of boots.  
   
The fair is filled with couples, the families having already left. They’re all so wrapped up in their own little worlds that they barely notice the two boys drifting past, holding hands and pointing at the stalls as they walk. Kurt buys a cone of cotton candy and Blaine’s cheeks take on a permanent tinge of pink when he licks the remnants off his fingers.  
   
Kurt wins Blaine the most adorable little golden retriever toy with big, sad eyes and floppy ears at the toy shooting range, sending the pile of cans skittering across the floor. Blaine names it Margaret and tucks it into his bag, and attempts (but fails) to win Kurt a tiger with big paws and shiny glass eyes. Kurt presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek and wins it for himself.  
   
Blaine insists on buying Kurt a funnel cake after that, covering it in strawberries and whipped cream and almost dropping it when Kurt links their arms. They find a quiet corner and lean up against each other, and Blaine (without thinking) tears off a bit of cake and holds it to Kurt’s lips.  
   
Kurt’s eyes blow wide and then his lips curve up into a smile and he leans forward, closing his mouth around Blaine’s fingertips. Blaine swallows hard and glances back down at his shoes.  
   
“Thank you,” Kurt says softly, “You’re sweet.”  
   
Blaine blushes hard and shifts closer to Kurt, hooking his ankle over Kurt’s and looking up at the sky.  
   
“It’s going to be clear tonight,” Kurt says, “I was wondering if you’d want to accompany me to the field after we leave?”  
   
Blaine pretends to think about it. “I don’t know, is it a full moon?”  
   
Kurt looks confused. “What on earth does that have to do with it?”  
   
“Well, you never did tell me how to protect myself against werewolves –“  
   
Kurt elbows him in the ribs and grumbles “You’re _horrible_ ,” as Blaine laughs, struggling to balance the paper plate on his legs as he tries to evade Kurt’s jabbing fingers.  
   
Once they’ve finished cleaning sticky hands Kurt slides their fingers together again and says “Want to ride the Ferris wheel?”  
   
Blaine is a little afraid of heights but he agrees anyway, grinning as Kurt swings their hands between them as they walk. The queue for the Ferris wheel is huge, but they manage to score a capsule alone, and Blaine might squeeze Kurt’s hand as tight as he can as the wheel starts to move.  
   
“Blaine,” Kurt says, “Are you afraid of heights?”  
   
“Maybe a little?” Blaine squeaks, “Not much!”  
   
Kurt shifts his weight, making the wheel rock precariously. “Oh my god, _stop_ ,” Blaine yelps, grabbing the worn yellow leather for safety and Kurt laughs, wrapping his arm around Blaine’s waist. “I’m just kidding around, we’re barely even off the ground. I’m sorry.”  
   
“You suck,” Blaine mumbles, swatting him on the leg, and Kurt giggles and kisses his cheek lightly, his lips lingering for a moment longer than anticipated. Blaine leans his head against Kurt’s shoulder as the wheel cranks higher and higher, groaning softly with exertion. The sounds of the fair below them fade away, replaced by the creak of the wheel and the faint sounds from the carriages above and behind them.  
   
“Blaine?”  
   
“Hm?” Blaine looks up and smiles, “Are you...okay?”  
   
“I’m perfect,” Kurt says softly, and kisses him.  
   
Blaine inhales sharply and then brings his hand up to cup Kurt’s jaw, closing his eyes. Kurt keeps the kiss chaste, his mouth closed, but he nips lightly at Blaine’s bottom lip when he pulls back.  
   
“Was that a sufficient distraction?” he asks, and Blaine grins bashfully, blushing, and blurts “Kurt, will you be my boyfriend?”  
   
Kurt blinks and then starts laughing. Blaine’s smile fades and he shifts back, ducking his head. _Stupid_.  
   
“Blaine, you idiot,” Kurt says, “I’m on a date with you, _I_ asked you out first. Of course I do.”  
   
His smile comes back full force and Blaine launches forwards, pressing their mouths together haphazardly. Kurt’s mouth is curved into a smile under Blaine’s and he slides his arms around Blaine’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. Blaine makes a noise in the back of his throat and shifts so he can almost settle over Kurt’s lap, his hands settling against Kurt’s waist.  
   
Kurt tastes sweet like cotton candy and strawberries, and Blaine opens his mouth for Kurt when his tongue presses against the seam of his lips. Kurt hums softly and tilts his head sideways to kiss Blaine deeper, his tongue sliding in over Blaine’s and making him shiver at the sensation of the bearing in Kurt’s tongue skidding over the roof of his mouth.  
   
Neither of them notice when the wheel stops and they’re left stranded in midair.  
   
 _Fin_  
  
**  
  
Despite how long this asshole fic has gotten, there is in fact more to tell. Hopefully I’ll have the sequel done soon! Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it :)


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